


The One

by KatMorningstar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, the holy trinity of anything I write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatMorningstar/pseuds/KatMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia has decided that Bellamy has been avoiding relationships for long enough. Her solution? Badger him into auditioning for the Bachelor-esque reality dating show, The One. Bellamy's not so sure about it, and he's even less sure about it when he finds out he's got the job. But he and Octavia figure out a way to rig a safety net into the show: get Clarke in as a contestant. If all else fails, he can just pretend to choose her, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love is...A Chocolate Lab

Octavia tipped her head back over the arm of the sofa so she could look at her brother upside-down. He was slumped into the armchair, face buried in one hand, and looking for all the world like the weary king of a declining kingdom. “Alright, question twenty: what qualities would you look for in your ideal mate?”

“Crossed eyes and a harelip,” Bellamy grunted. Then he lifted his head. “God, does that actually say ‘mate’?”

“Sure does. Now be serious,” she chided. “You haven’t been on a date in like, two years.”

Scoffing, he shook his head. “That’s because I do not date.” He pronounced the word with distasteful care, as if he didn’t want it lingering in his mouth too long and getting too comfortable there.

Octavia scowled at him. “Only because you refuse to make an emotional connection with anyone.” Pursing her lips, she mused, “I think you fear intimacy.”

“Excuse me, Miss Psych Major? You know as well as I do that intimacy is my strong suit.” His grin was lascivious but empty.

“Ew, gross,” she hurled a throw pillow at his head too fast for him to deflect it. Years of sibling conflict had made Octavia quick on the draw. “That is definitely not what I meant. I mean...” She looked around desperately. “How long has it been since a girl was actually in your house?”

Bellamy made a noncommittal “I dunno” sound. “Clarke and Raven came over the other day.”

“That doesn’t count. Their washing machine was broken, and I told them they could use ours.” 

Doubtful, he asked, “Raven couldn’t fix it?”

His sister cast her eyes to heaven as if praying for patience, or at the very least, the strength to not wring his neck. “No, she couldn’t. It’s old and worn out, and they’re getting a new one this week. In the meantime, they’re using ours. Now, if you could please focus for one second--”

“Focus on what, O?” he demanded. “This ridiculous show you’re making me try out for? Because being on a dating show is somehow going to make me want a relationship when I don’t?”

It was a loaded question, but she simply said, “Yes. You’re going to do it, and you’re going to do it for me, your sister who loves you and wants you to be happy. You might not even make it. But if you do, you basically get a long vacation full of beautiful girls that already like you, and the show pays like...a lot of money.”

That seemed to pique his interest as Bellamy cocked his head to the side and eyed her. “Seriously? What’s the budget on this thing?”

Octavia’s eye bulged. “Come on, Bell! You’ve heard of The One before. You must have-- it’s their tenth season. You make it sound cheap, but it is the Cadillac of ‘dating shows’. Millions of people watch. And if the couple from the end ever gets married, it’s a huge deal, and it’s all over the press.”

“All the more reason for me not to do it. What would I do with that kind of public attention?” 

“Oh please,” she crowed, “you would eat that shit up! I swear you only win half your cases because you turn all that charisma on the jury and get them eating out of the palm of your hand.” He chuckled a little, and she pointed an accusing finger. “Uh huh! Just what I thought. So you’re doing this, whether you like it or not.”

Whether it was because he was convinced or he just wanted to pacify his sister-- something that was beginning to seem like a lifelong occupation-- Bellamy let out a long-suffering sigh and nodded. “Fine. Ask me the question again. I’ll answer it for real, but you have to write down my real answer. No doctoring it to make it sound better.”

Octavia bobbed her head earnestly. _Like hell she wasn’t._ “Great! Okay, so, what qualities would you look for in your ideal mate?”

“Uh... I like brown hair? And,” he searched, “friendly, I guess? This is weird.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “it is weird. Because what you just described is a chocolate lab.” 

“Jesus Christ. How many more questions are there?”

“Sixty. Get comfortable.” 

 

Bellamy wondered somewhere in the back of his mind why so much noise was coming from the laundry room when Octavia was still at school; but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He was too busy worrying about if he should put in any real effort for this in-person audition thing. The guy who had called from The One had called it a meeting, but Bellamy knew what it was. 

He was still on the fence about whether or not he wanted to be on the show. On the plus side, there was money and girls. But he had a good job, and he could meet girls anytime if he wanted to. Conversely, the show would also be chock-full of drama, real or fabricated, and he might end up not hitting it off with any of the girls. Then he’d be stuck faking it with whoever he he disliked the least for God knows how long. Would it be worth it? 

Finally, he decided he’d put in the same amount of effort he would for a third date, _if he ever decided to have one of those_ \-- not necessarily trying to impress, more geared toward being himself. So he wore nice jeans and one of those three-button shirts O always picked out for him (Henry something?), and he left his hair alone. Whatever. This was good enough. 

Coming out of his room, Bellamy gave himself a little shake-- _get it together, man._ That little shake turned into a solid jolt as he, miles deep in his own head, walked straight into Clarke. 

“Shit!” she hissed, throwing an arm out to keep herself from slamming into the wall of the hallway. Her other arm had been full of warm, freshly-folded laundry, which was now all over the floor. As Bellamy took a step to steady himself, he planted his heel directly on top on something slick; all at once, his feet were out from under him, and he sat straight down, hard. 

He looked up, grimacing at his now-probably-bruised tailbone, to see Clarke standing over him, putting in a truly valiant effort not to laugh. 

“Come on,” she gripped his wrist and hefted him back to his feet. “You alright?”

Bellamy just chuckled and dusted himself off. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that. Do you need--” But she was already scooping up her clothes and piling them back up in her arms. (Apparently, he had slipped on a bra made of something slinky-looking. He refused to wonder if it was hers or Raven’s.) 

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked, dumping her stack of clothes into the hamper she had left in the living room. “Coccyx injuries are no big deal, but they can literally be a pain in the ass.” 

Rolling his eyes, he said, “I’m fine, Dr. Griffin. Isn’t today your day off?” He had no idea how he knew that. Maybe Octavia had mentioned it? Clarke certainly hadn’t. Despite having known each other for years, their interactions were still volatile sometimes. Mostly they antagonized each other, occasionally lapsing into comfortable friendliness as if by accident. Usually, this came after they joined forces to keep Octavia from doing something ill-advised, while they were still feeling distinctly parental. But they didn’t exactly go around exchanging work schedules with one another.

“Did the midday laundry give it away?” she snarked. _Yep, that was it._ Looking up from her hamper, she took him in in one head-to-toe sweep. “You look nice. But those aren’t work clothes.” The unasked question hung in the air. 

“Keen observation skills. I have a meeting.” He tried to leave it at that, but he could tell she wasn’t buying it.

“Uh huh. Awfully casual for a meeting.” Clarke narrowed her blue eyes, which were, in fact, keenly observant, _thank you very much_ , but rather more on the sly side at the moment. “Either you have a date-- and the apocalypse is upon us-- or this has something to do with that TV show O was telling me about.” 

Bellamy let out a long breath. “Good to know she’s telling people about that. But yeah, they wanted to meet with me in person, so I’m heading into the city.”

He waited for her to make fun of him, but all she did was let out a tiny laugh and say, “Well, good for you. Good luck, if you want it.” 

Half-smiling his thanks, Bellamy made for the door. His hand had just closed around the knob when he heard Clarke shout from behind him, “I hope you’re _the one_ they’re looking for!” 

Oh, how he wished he could think of something biting to say in return-- but who was he kidding? The whole situation was laughable. Not to mention the fact that, if by some chance he actually got chosen, he’d have to get used to stuff like that from everyone in their social circle. So he settled for hollering, “Real cute, princess,” over his shoulder before slipping out the door.

The last word was his. But given that he was leaving to go audition for a reality dating show that his sister had bullied him into applying for...he couldn’t help but feel a little less smug than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the plot will really begin to unfurl: we see the Blake siblings hatch a plan, but then they have to convince Clarke to go along with it. She and Bellamy aren't exactly in the habit of doing each other favors, right? Especially not ones this big... Can they come to some kind of agreement?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's keeping up with me from tumblr or from my first story, and thanks to first-time readers too! I love feedback of all kinds, so leave me kudos or comments or positive vibes or spare change, whatever. Feel free to hit me up on tumblr at [maryam0revna.tumblr.com] and shoot me a message. Declarations of undying love and story prompts are the favorites, but I'm open to anything. See you sooooooonnn....


	2. Love is...Friday Night Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia is revealed to be a terrible sneak, and Bellamy gets a fateful phone call. Clarke has to make a big decision-- one she might very well come to regret.

“Care to explain why the casting director for The One thinks I’m looking for ‘a kind, intelligent woman to spend the rest of my life with’?” 

Octavia didn’t turn around from the stove. Instead, she gave her skillet a little jiggle and shrugged remorselessly. “I doctored your answers a little.”

A muscle in Bellamy’s jaw twitched as his lips pinched together. “I specifically told you not to do that.”

“And you believed me?” She shot him a disbelieving look over her shoulder. “That was pretty stupid.”

Her brother held up a hand and opened his mouth...but he closed his mouth and let his hand fall. Yeah. Yeah, that had been pretty stupid.

 

About a month went by, and applying for The One just sort of became A Thing That Happened. With basically no follow-up, aside from an email from the casting director thanking Bellamy for meeting with him, everyone assumed that nothing had come of it. However, that didn’t stop everyone from giving Bellamy hell for it at every possible opportunity.

It was the first Friday of the month, so Jasper, Monty, Miller, Lincoln, and the Blakes were all clustered around Clarke and Raven’s giant dinner table when yet another such opportunity arose.

Clarke was butchering one of the two roast chickens at the head of the table. Her face was twisted into a scowl, and she cut through the breastbone with enough ferocity to make Jasper jump a little in his seat. Normally, watching their surgeon friend carve a bird was solid dinner entertainment: she would make a show of having someone hand her her “scalpel”, then narrate her incisions. It had been sort of her thing ever since their first group dinner in college, when the roads had been too snowy for any of them to get home for Thanksgiving. But not tonight. No one spoke until she was done and had put the knife a safe distance away. 

“What’s up with you?” Raven asked with characteristic bluntness from the other end of the table. (Clarke’s engrained old-school etiquette demanded that they, as co-hosts, sit at the opposite ends.) 

Bewildered, Clarke shook her head. “Nothing. Why?”

“Um,” Jasper jumped in, “because you just assaulted that poor chicken.” Monty murmured in agreement, and Octavia pointedly relocated the knife to the sideboard.

Sighing, Clarke passed the dish of asparagus to Octavia. “Sorry. My mom called earlier.” After a beat, she added, “She criticized my work habits.” 

Amidst various noises of disbelief, Raven laughed. “Is she fucking kidding? You’re basically a workaholic.”

The blonde winced. “Yeah, that’s what she said. She went on to say that she doesn’t think I’m ‘getting out enough.’ I tried telling her that I have an excellent social life, but she was too busy telling me about this hot new oncologist she thinks would be just perfect for me.” 

Octavia barked out a laugh. “That’s her problem? She thinks you should be dating more? Oh God. No offense, Clarke, but your mom is the worst.”

“Does she know you’re two years ahead of everyone else in your program?” Bellamy asked mildly. 

With a wicked glance at his former roommate, Miller said, “You know, Blake, maybe Clarke just needs to take a leaf out of your book and go on a dating show. Of course, then she’d end up with the kind of guy that goes on dating shows...”

That got a grin out of Clarke. Barely audible under everyone’s laughter, Bellamy grumbled, “Jesus, guys. Can we please let that go?”

“Nope!” Clarke proclaimed, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, good humor seemingly renewed.

 

The call came after dinner, when everyone was stuffed and propped up against couch cushions (or, in Raven’s case, their overstuffed recliner). Monty, Jasper, and Miller had just trickled out, citing an early morning meeting-- their tiny tech startup had grown exponentially since college, and they were about to make their first acquisition. Lincoln was eyeing the door too, trying to extricate himself from the arms of his sleepy fiancee, when Bellamy’s phone rang. 

When he looked at the screen but hesitated to answer, Clarke scooched across the space Monty and Jasper had just vacated and peeked at the number.

The contact ID said “Craig Rodgers (casting guy)”. 

Clarke looked up at Bellamy with wide eyes, nudging him to answer it. His thumb hesitated over the “accept” button. After another ring, she reached over and hovered a finger above the little speaker icon. At her questioning look, he nodded his approval, and she pressed it. They might not always get along, but moral support was moral support. 

“Hello?” Bellamy’s voice was gruff but cautious. 

“Bellamy Blake?” came the voice on the other end.

“Yes?” 

The voice laughed. “Hey, Bellamy, it’s Craig Rodgers from The One. We met a few weeks ago?”

“I remember.” He was starting to sound a little impatient. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “How’s it going, Craig?”

“Things are going great. We just decided on this season’s star, and I’m excited to tell you-- it’s you!”

Clarke watched as Bellamy’s face went slack. He looked like he was going to drop the phone. She elbowed him, and he seemed to snap out of it, gripping his phone and grimacing. Octavia, meanwhile, was suddenly very awake and bouncing on the opposite couch, pummeling Lincoln’s shoulder with excited little punches. Raven was cross-legged in her chair, biting her fist to keep from laughing out loud.

“Uh-- that’s great news, I guess. How long do I have to think about it before I get back to you?”

Craig was quiet for a second. “What do you mean?”

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, how long before I have to give you guys a definite answer on whether I’ll do it or not?”

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.” The frown was audible in Craig’s voice. “With you application, you signed a contract saying that, barring any extreme circumstances, you would participate in the show if you were selected. I’m afraid you’ve already given us a definite answer.”

Fury curling his features into a snarl, Bellamy turned toward his sister. True to form, Octavia looked positively unrepentant. She was one of only a few people in the world not cowed by that look. Her brother glanced at his phone, then back to her, making it clear that, while they couldn’t speak freely now, they would definitely be having words. 

“Alright,” Bellamy ground out. “What’s my next move, then?”

Craig sounded relieved. “You’ll be getting an email within the hour with your travel schedule and an outline of everything you should expect from this point on. You won’t be flying out for another month, but since we’ve still got one last round of contestant auditions, we do ask that you keep this news relatively quiet.”

With a humorless chuckle, Bellamy said, “That won’t be a problem.”

 

“Great! Well, check your email, and let me know if you have any other questions. We’ll see you soon, and, hey-- congratulations!” 

“Thanks.” 

The call disconnected with a little beep, and Bellamy rounded on Octavia. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “Signing my name to something like that? I know you must’ve forged it, because I read everything I signed. That’s a felony, Octavia.” 

Despite Lincoln staring at her with mild horror, she didn’t blink. “You can’t prove it. I’ve been forging your signature since middle school, legal eagle. I do it better than you do.”

“What if I can’t get off work?” He went right on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Did you think about that? It might be a little hard to ask for six weeks off, especially when I’m only a year off from getting my name on fucking building.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You’re the best, and they know it. And Kane treats you like you’re the son he never had. They’ll give you the time. That’s not what you’re worried about. You’re just afraid of relationships.”

With a groan of frustration, Bellamy growled, “I am not afraid of relationships. But could you blame me for being a little hesitant to date twenty women at once, on national television?” 

“Hmmm,” Octavia furrowed her brows in a way that was somehow scarier than any of her brother’s angry faces. “You know...it could just be nineteen. There might be a way for us to sneak you in a safety net.” 

“A safety net?” He didn’t sound any less upset, but he did sound a little interested. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that maybe we could get someone on the inside. Get someone you know in as a contestant, that way she can tell you which girls are secretly crazy and which ones are actually cool. And, if it doesn’t work out with anyone, you can just pretend to like them. Safety net.” 

“But who would w--” He broke off as he followed her gaze to their hostesses. “Octavia, no.”

Raven caught on first. “Uh uh,” she shook her head. “Hell no. Even if I were willing to do it, which I am not, there’s no way I would have the time. I’m in the middle of a giant project, and they’d never let me off.” Recently, her department had been commissioned by the DoD to build something super secret. She refused to tell them what it was, but she was practically twitching with excitement anytime it came up. Somehow, it seemed like even if she were willing, she still wouldn’t ask.

Silently, Octavia’s eyes moved to Clarke. (Or had she been looking at her the whole time?) “I vote Clarke does it.”

The blonde’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding? No way.” She looked to Bellamy for backup, but to her surprise, he just looked sort of thoughtful. “You people are insane. There is no way I can take six weeks off to go be on a goddamn dating show. I’m a doctor!”

“A doctor whose mother doesn’t think she dates enough,” Octavia pointed out. “Whose mother also happens to be the Chief of Medicine and therefore her boss. Don’t you see? This could totally be a win-win.” 

At Clarke’s disbelieving look, she went on. “All you have to do is go hang out with Bellamy and a bunch of girls for a little while. You get a free break from work, and you get your mom off your back, without actually having to date anyone. What’s not to like?

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. “Do you really want me to do this?” 

For a while, he didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together and stared at his hands. Finally, he cocked his head and offered her an apologetic grimace. “It’s a lot to ask.” 

It was. Especially given their relationship, or lack thereof. But... “Octavia’s right, though. It would be enough to get my mom to back off. And as much as I love my job, it would be nice to take a break.” She nodded to herself. “I’ll apply. No guarantee I’ll make it, but I’ll try.”

Octavia clapped, making a sound that was vaguely tea-kettle-like in pitch and duration. Raven shifted in her chair, tucking her prosthetic leg further under her, and let out a low little chuckle, as if to say, “Oh God, here we go.” 

Bellamy just smiled that crooked Blake half-smile and said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Clarke smirked. “If this actually works, you’re going to owe me big time. Like, ‘help me hide a body’ big time.” 

She kept up the relaxed facade until the three of them finally left a few minutes later. As soon as she shut the door behind them, she slunk back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. “Raven,” she called, voice muffled by a throw pillow, “what did I just get myself into?”

The other girl cackled from the kitchen. “From the sound of it, the most un-Clarke-Griffin thing you’ve ever done in your entire life.” 

Clarke hmphed into the pillow. “Maybe I won’t make the cut.”

“Hah!” Raven shouted over the whir of the dishwasher starting up. Her voice got closer as she walked back into the living room. “You’re a tall, blonde, twenty six year-old surgeon, for God’s sake. Your biggest concern at this point is getting the forms turned in on time, then figuring out how you’re gonna fake heart eyes for Bellamy.” 

Groaning, Clarke bit back a string of profanity. She hadn’t even thought about that. Honestly, she had a hard enough time not punching the guy half the time, much less faking any kind of affection. Maybe they weren’t at each other’s throats like they had been in college, but Jesus. And it wasn't like she could back out of it now. Had she just made a huge mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Most of the setup, "I could've guessed that from the synopsis" stuff is done! Now, onto the good stuff... In our next chapter, we jump ahead to just before the beginning of the show. Will our future reality stars be prepared for what lies ahead? Also, it seems that while our darling duo is filming, they'll be cut off from the outside world. But this isn't the last we see of the gang! Oh no, far from it. But how will the gang stay in the picture when they aren't allowed to communicate with Bellamy and Clarke? We'll see.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. -- Just as a preemptive measure, let me go ahead and apologize for how short/infrequent these chapters are! I just started my last semester of undergrad, and between class, work, and Greek stuff... don't get me started. But I'm doing my best, and I promise not to leave you guys hanging any longer than I need to.


	3. Love is...A Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More like a SHIPPING trip, amiright??  
> No?  
> Okay.  
> Anyway, this is just a quick little snippet, in which we see Raven and Octavia drag Clarke shopping. Also, they drop some interesting info about Bellamy and Clarke's dynamic back in the day...

Of course Raven was right. Of course Clarke would make it on the fucking show. Part of her-- kind of a big part-- had been hoping that she wouldn’t make it. Her obligation would be fulfilled without any of the not-fun parts. Because while it might have its benefits for her, she seriously questioned her ability to fake the so-called heart eyes, especially for Bellamy. So she had answered the questions on the personality inventory as honestly and shamelessly as possible.

“23. What do you like to do in your free time?”  
I work long shifts. I mostly like to catch up on my sleep, watch Netflix, and drink wine with my roommate.

“37. If you had to choose one person, living or dead, to be stranded on a desert island with, who would it be? Why?”  
Tom Hanks’s character in Castaway. He knows how to get off the island.

“40. Do you enjoy the fitness and/or the outdoors?”  
Frankly, no. I run sometimes when I have extra energy, but gyms are weird, sweaty prisons. 

And yet somehow, somehow, she had gotten a phone call a few weeks later saying that she had been accepted as a contestant on this season of The One. Great. The first thing she did was text Raven, Octavia, and Bellamy.

Clarke Griffin  
6:55 pm  
Just got the call. I’m on the show.

Octavia Blake  
6:59 pm  
YAAAAAAAYYYYY! Maybe now Bellamy will relax about the whole thing. He’s been unbearable.

Bellamy Blake  
7:04 pm  
I have not. And yeah, I actually do feel a little better. Thank you again for doing this. It’s above and beyond.

Clarke Griffin  
7:07 pm  
Believe me, I know.

Raven Reyes  
7:10 pm  
Sounds like it’s time to go shopping. There is no way I’m allowing you to go on national television wearing...anything you own.

Clarke Griffin  
7:14 pm  
Fuck you. But. I do mostly own scrubs. And sundresses with pockets. If I’m gonna stick around long enough for Bellamy to find a girl (or girls) he likes, I should probably bring clothes that make me look like a contender. 

Raven Reyes  
7:19 pm  
That reminds me, I will pay you $20 to say, “I’m not here to make friends.” And I will double it if you throw a glass of something on a girl while you say it.

Bellamy Blake  
7:23 pm  
No. You’re not doing that.

Clarke Griffin  
7:27 pm  
First of all, you are not the boss of me. But secondly, of course I’m not! $40 to act like an ass in front of the whole world? Uh...pass. I make good money. 

Raven Reyes  
7:32 pm  
0 fun. Both of you. This season is going to be so boring, I might not even watch.

Octavia Blake  
7:35 pm  
Yeah right.

 

Shopping with Raven was an experience, to say the least. Shopping with Raven and Octavia was some kind of karmic punishment for sins committed in a past life. In the first two hours, Clarke had tried on eight pairs of jeans-- and shopping for jeans with unreliable sizing and no ass room is a known killer of self-esteem-- four skirts, and probably thirty blouses of various (but all excessive) amounts of cleavage. At present, she was languishing in her dressing room while her friends hunted down cocktail dresses. 

“Stay in your box,” Octavia had commanded. “Your tastes are not to be trusted.”

Clarke hadn’t put up a fight. She got to lay on a padded bench, her legs propped irreverently up the wall while her friends went hunting and gathering, cave-woman style.

Mid-languish, Raven banged on the dressing room door. “Let us in!” she called, clacking the hangers against the frame.

Swinging her legs down, Clarke obeyed. The dressing room was big enough for the three of them to fit more than comfortably-- she suspected they had stolen the handicapped one-- and the two girls insisted on being present for all tryings-on. Which was probably sensible of them, Clarke mentally conceded, because if she thought something wasn’t flattering, she just wouldn’t have come out. Presently, Raven and Octavia barged in and hung what had to be twenty dresses on the hooks in the wall. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Clarke deadpanned. “There is no way.”

Raven and Octavia exchanged a look before exploding into condescending scoffing that sounded like, “Pfffft!” 

Knowing that they wouldn’t give up, even if they had to stuff her into the dresses themselves, Clarke caved and pulled the first dress off the hanger. Just holding it up to her underwear-clad body, she let out a bark of laughter. “No.”

“Yes,” Octavia ordered, taking a seat on the recently vacated bench. 

With a deep breath, Clarke shimmied into the gold sequined monstrosity that fit her almost like a second skin. Taking it all in, braced for the worst, her mouth dropped into a little o. 

“Right?” Raven sounded triumphant. 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathed. It looked damn good. The gold against her hair and skin tone, Jesus. It even made her look a little tan, despite the fact that interminable shifts at the hospital had drained her mole-person pale. It was fantastic.

So was the cobalt fit-and-flare with the demure neckline and wide straps.

So was the muted pink, one-shouldered tulip dress. 

She would deny it to her dying breath, but her friends really knew what they were doing. Once she had worked her way through all of their picks and put her own clothes back on, adamant that this was enough for one day, she surveyed the damage. Her no pile was pathetic, and her yes pile was a precarious tower. From the looks of it, she had four pairs of jeans, maybe fifteen tops, and half of the dresses.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “This is going to be obscenely expensive.”

Raven grinned. “What happened to ‘I make good money’? Plus, you have an equally obscene trust fund, so I think you’ll manage.” 

Well. Clarke couldn’t really argue with that. She did, in fact, do well for herself, even without her nest egg of a trust fund. “Whatever. Either way, O, your brother is going to owe me, probably forever. Like, I might commit murder one day just to make him defend me in court.”

“I feel like that is,” Octavia pretended to consider, “the worst idea you’ve ever had. But yeah, he definitely in your eternal debt. Especially if he meets his wife on this show. I think you would have dibs on their firstborn.”

The older girl shuddered. “Gross. Pass. By the way,” she held up a finger, “I get that I’m supposed to look good for this, but...this good? Not to be vain or anything, but I look genuinely spectacular in this stuff. I don’t want anyone watching to decide I’m their favorite or start rooting for me to win-- if you could call it winning-- just for me to get strategically eliminated at some point.”

Her friends hesitated for a long second before Raven smacked Octavia’s thigh with the back of her hand and gave her a meaningful look that translated to, “Tell her.” 

Taking in a lungful of air, Octavia fiddled with her engagement ring and spoke in a rush. “Basically, our theory is that, if Bellamy’s going to pretend you don’t know each other and treat you like you’re just one of the other girls, you need to blend in with the other hot girls. And chances are, the last thing he’s going to be thinking about is all the years you guys have known and hated each other if he’s too busy staring at you. So basically it’s not for you and doesn’t really have anything to do with you, except that the plan is for you to kind of subtly to distract Bell from giving anything away.”

“Primarily,” Raven tacked on, “by making him look at your objectively nice bod, which he hasn’t seen since spring break three years ago, instead of your very familiar face.”

Clarke threw her head back so far it almost knocked into the wall behind her and groaned. “No,” she whined, giving the word three syllables. “I don’t want him to look at me, and furthermore, you can bet he’s not going to. I’m basically somewhere on the same level of Octavia, in terms of annoying-sisterly-ness, and even Bellamy has limits. I think.”

In yet another display of weird synchronicity, Raven and Octavia stared at her for a second before collapsing into giggles. 

Finally, under Clarke’s relentless and unamused stare, Raven caught her breath. “Yeah,” she gasped. “Right. Because there was absolutely zero sexual tension when you guys used to fight all the time.” 

“Oh God,” Octavia cackled. “The way you guys used to like, fucking saunter into each other’s personal space until you were practically nose to nose. There were a lot of times when I thought about just smashing your faces together to get it over with.” 

Raven nodded enthusiastically. “Why do you think we always made sure you were both with the group when we went out to bars and stuff?”

“Because,” Clarke shook her head, confused, “we’re all friends?”

“Hell no! We were all just hoping that one night you’d both get drunk enough to channel all that aggression into violently fucking each other.” Raven shrugged, as if she hadn’t just made the most baldly sexual proclamation ever. “It never happened, and you guys started getting along better, so we just sort of gave up.” 

Speechless, Clarke could feel the prickling flush spread across her currently very exposed chest. “I--” started, but she didn’t even know how to respond to that. 

Fortunately, Raven saved her from having to say anything. “Come on!” She scooped up the giant pile of clothes and nodded toward the front of the store. “We’re done here.”

Clarke sighed in relief, then froze. “Wait. What the hell do you mean, ‘here’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that was super quick! Sorry! Hope it didn't feel like a filler. There were things I wanted to accomplish here, and I also didn't want to go forever without updating. In the next chapter, we should see the last ensemble scenes before they go their separate ways for the show! How will Bellamy and Clarke prepare? And how will their friends remain involved? HMMMMMM.


	4. Love is...Russian Roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Bellamy's last night at home, and Clarke will be leaving not long after. The gang wants them to go out with a bang, so clearly, it's time to drink. And we all know that always goes well.

Time seemed to move all too quickly in the days leading up to Bellamy and Clarke’s departure for the show. He would be leaving a few days earlier than she was, presumably to get settled in and get his final instructions. She would be flown into an off-site location for some sort of debriefing before the show actually started. They would move into the house in the morning and then carry on with the supremely weird first meeting thing, complete with limos and awkward greetings.

Because of their conflicting work schedules, they hardly had time to sit down and really hash out The Plan. They both knew that the general idea was to pretend that they had never met before, and for Clarke to stay only until Bellamy was sure that he was interested in at least one girl. Despite their lack of time for formally strategize, they did take to texting each other anytime a thought on the matter came to mind.

 

Clarke Griffin  
10:17 am  
Okay, you know that when we do the first meeting thing, you’re going to have to show absolutely no sign of knowing me. Are you sure you can do it?

Bellamy Blake  
10:20 am  
I know that, Princess. Trust me, it won’t be that hard. Octavia said something about you looking a little different anyway, so that’ll help.

Clarke Griffin  
10:24 am  
Yeah, different. That’s one way of putting it.

 

Bellamy Blake  
5:52 pm  
Did I tell you that the audience is getting a say in the elimination process this season?

Clarke Griffin  
5:59 pm  
You didn’t. How the hell is that supposed to work? They get to choose your girlfriend, like some creepy romantic American Idol?

Bellamy Blake  
6:10 pm  
Not quite. Basically, they get the chance to rescue someone from elimination if they feel like I haven’t given her a chance. And they can decide who I go out on these extra one-on-ones with.

Clarke Griffin  
6:15 pm  
Okay, note to self: don’t be too charming. It would be incredibly hard to play strangers outside of a group setting.

Bellamy Blake  
6:21 pm  
Speaking of playing strangers, I still need you to tell me stuff about the other girls. But since we can’t have phones, we’ll have to figure out a way around it. And if we’re going to be lying all the time, we need some sort of signal for when we’re saying something we mean, and maybe one for when we need to back off. 

Clarke Griffin  
6:27 pm  
Back off? And what are you, a third base coach?

Bellamy Blake  
6:32 pm  
Shut up. Like if if they make us do some over-the-top romantic shit, and it starts feeling too weird. There needs to be a way out. 

Clarke Griffin  
6:30 pm  
Good point. Okay, so, telling the truth = twist something on your hand. Or mine, I guess, if we’re close enough. Watch, ring, whatever. It’s subtle, but I’ll notice, and the audience will eat it up. What should the back off signal be? 

Bellamy Blake  
6:37 pm  
Something similar, but not too similar. Like, instead of twisting whatever it is, just take it off, like you’re adjusting it?

Clarke Griffin  
6:40 pm  
Sounds good. We just have to remember to do it around chest height, otherwise we’ll never notice.

Bellamy Blake  
6:46 pm  
Got it. 

 

The night before Bellamy was set to leave, most of the gang had the night off, and they collectively decided (or maybe Octavia and Miller decided) that they should have a sort of going-away night out for their two friends. Everyone seemed to think that this was the best idea of all time, except for Clarke, who couldn’t quite forget what Raven had said about making sure she and Bellamy got drunk together. But she gave herself a little mental pinch and herself to get over it; she just wouldn’t drink too much, and everything would be fine. Not that she was the type of drunk to go after a one-night stand-- rather, she was kind of a babbly drunk with virtually no brain-mouth filter, and she didn’t want to risk divulging Raven’s truth bomb to Bellamy. No, she’d keep that under her hat, for the sake of their mostly amicable relationship.

At 6 pm, they converged on Tondc, their favorite neighborhood bar, the name of which none of them could actually pronounce after a few drinks. It was a small place, and they might’ve chosen somewhere a little rowdier for the occasion, but the nostalgia of all the nights they had spent there in college, combined with the fact that Lincoln still tended bar sometimes as a favor to the owner, made it feel right.

The owner, Anya, was slightly terrifying in a serial killer supermodel kind of way, but she respected the fact that their little cadre had kept Tondc in the black for the better part of the last decade. Thus, in a rare gesture of generosity, she had Lincoln send a round of tequila shots over to the table full of Schuyler University alums-- affectionately called the Sky Crew by the bar staff. They accepted gratefully, although Clarke vowed that this would be her only drink.

That didn’t go over so well. 

“Shut up,” groaned Raven, pressing a glass of something murky blue into her hand. “You’re going away for six weeks. The least you can do is let us get you drunk one last time.”

Clarke softened a little at that, and Raven, scenting blood in the water, pouted her bottom lip ever so slightly. If Clarke had been feeling a any less sentimental, she would have known better than to fall for The Subtle Puppy, Raven’s sympathetic trump card. But damn it, this whole thing was really nice, and she was kind of emotionally compromised, so she took the drink with a grateful smile. 

Raven gave her a hearty slap on the arm that almost made her spill the weird swamp water concoction. “That’s more like it! Now drink up.”

“Why the hell not?” Clarke thought, taking a sip, then cringing deeply. Shit, that was sweet. And it tasted like an entire bar. Maybe she would only need one drink after all... “What is this?” she demanded.

“Grateful Dead,” Raven smirked. “Now finish that before Russian Roulette.” 

Shit. She watched helplessly as her friends took over the empty long table at the far end of the room, setting ten plastic cups out in a circle and passing out ping pong balls. As they filled the cups, nine with shots of water and one with a shot of vodka, she tried to drink as slowly as possible. Russian Roulette, which the Sky Crew hadn’t so much invented as just drastically and repeatedly modified, was one of many drinking games that only got worse for you as you got drunker. The only upside was that they generally ended up drinking enough water to stave off the worst that hangovers had to offer. Finally, she downed the last of the blue fire and made for the table, silently sending out a plea for divine aid. 

 

Whether the divine heard her or not, Clarke couldn’t tell. They were seven rounds in, which meant that now seven cups hid vodka and only three water. Her aim was good-- steady hands, surgical focus, and all-- but she wasn’t the only one. Raven’s nimble mechanical engineer fingers almost never missed, and Monty was precise as a laser. And given that the rules of Russian Roulette were such that, whoever sank the shot got to assign the cup to an unfortunate friend, Clarke and Bellamy soon realized that this game was not going to be kind to them. Usually, the game started out as every man for himself, with people handing off cups to whomever they felt like picking on at the time. Loose alliances eventually formed, or at least distinct grudges-- Clarke and Bellamy had been known to pass their cups directly to one another back in school. However, they now found themselves the victims of the entire group. Apparently, no one would be satisfied if either of them left Tondc anything short of completely blackout.

They had no choice but to form a sad sort of two-person team against their friends, and despite being wildly outnumbered, they put up a good show. Between Bellamy’s sharp eye and Clarke’s unwavering hand, they managed to dish out more than their fair share of cups. After triumphantly passing a cup off to Jasper (which, from the look on his face, had indeed been vodka), Clarke swung her hand into the air. Bellamy smacked it without hesitation.

“We make a good team, Princess,” he admitted, sounding a little miffed about it. 

She scoffed, but she knew he was right. They were both lit, and they were still kicking ass. Or at least as much ass as two people could against five. “Yeah, yeah. Watch out. You damage that hand, and we’re screwed.”

“Oh, please! Like you’re carrying the team. Tch,” he clicked his tongue scornfully, but he smirked all the same.

Three rounds later, Octavia had her arms wrapped around both their waists and was guiding them to the door as they said their goodbyes. Lincoln’s shift was ending, and he had agreed to take them all home. Normally, Raven would’ve been loaded in with them too, but at some point in the evening, she had gotten it into her head to call one of her coworkers on the DoD project to come down and drink with them. She and the sandy-haired guy, Wick, were currently in the middle of a contentious game of pool, accompanied by a heated debate about...something sciencey. (At Clarke’s drunken insistence, Anya agreed to make sure that Raven was sufficiently sobered up before making any decisions about where she was going at the end of the night.)

Momentarily seeming more like a cop than a grad student, Octavia pushed Bellamy’s head down as she shoved him into the back seat of Lincoln’s car. She didn’t bother taking Clarke over to the other side, so when she nudged her in, the blonde pitched forward into Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Ow, shit,” she muttered. “Scoot over.” 

“Maybe I would if you would quit jabbing me with your sharp-ass fingers,” Bellamy shifted over all of three inches, with great effort and grumbling all the while.

Presumably not in the mood to hear them take up their usual petty bickering, Octavia cranked up the radio from the passenger seat and elbowed Lincoln into backing the car out. But with nothing left to say, the occupants of the back seat fell quiet.

After a while, Clarke looked over at Bellamy, mostly by flopping her heavy head ungracefully to the side. He was staring at the back of Lincoln’s head rest, eyes vacant and lips pressed together. “Hey,” she knocked the back of her knuckles into his arm. “You nervous about leaving tomorrow?” She knew he’d never admit it if he was, but she felt like she should ask anyway.

But he surprised her. “A little. It’s just gonna be weird, being in the middle of all those girls. It really...” He paused, mouth in a strained line, before sighing. “It really does help that you’re coming.” 

Before Clarke could think to mess with him about doing him the biggest favor of all time, the old drunken brain-to-mouth channel opened up, and she blurted out, “Why? I mean, was there really not anyone else you could ask? You barely even like me.” 

It was blunt and maybe a little rude, but he didn’t contradict her. He just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.”

Clarke’s eyebrows snapped together in shock, and she opened her mouth to question him, but all that came out was a highly skeptical, “Uhhhh...?”

Eyes boring into hers, Bellamy said, “I’ve trusted you with Octavia for a long time. It’s more than I can say for anyone else.” 

For once, Clarke’s drunk brain was at a loss for words, so she just nodded and tried her best to factor this new information into what she knew about Bellamy. It didn’t fit, and for all she wished it didn’t, it did sort of...change things. A little.

 

 

Clarke groaned when she saw her alarm clock. It read 6:05 am. There was some medical reason for waking up unusually early after a night of drinking, but she couldn’t remember what it was, so she just chalked it up to being somehow cursed. But she knew that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so she inched out of bed, careful not to jostle her head, and went in search of water.

She almost yelled when she saw the sleeping figure on her couch. But between the long legs and wild bedhead poking out from under the blanket-- Jesus Christ, it was Bellamy. All at once, Clarke remembered Octavia and Lincoln dropping her off at her house and not-so-subtly asking if Bellamy wouldn’t rather just crash there for the night? Because she and Lincoln were going to be up for a while yet, and they didn’t want to wake him... Bellamy had been drunk but not so drunk that he missed the subtext. As he screwed his face up into a look of pure disgust, Clarke had elbowed him and said that he was welcome to their couch. After having lived with Octavia for a few years while she was in med school and the younger girl still in undergrad, she was well aware of how unpleasant it was to be in the same house with Lincoln and Octavia while they were. Being intimate. It was loud, and she wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy, which she wasn’t sure Bellamy was anymore. 

And so he had quite literally crashed onto her couch. Clarke had tossed him a blanket before stumbling into her own bed, and now here they were. Thinking back to the time and what day it was, she bit back a curse. Why had Bellamy’s sister gotten him drunk and then sexiled him the night before he was supposed to fly out? Shaking her head, she reached down and gave his shoulder a firm rattle. 

He was always a light sleeper-- and Clarke genuinely had no idea how she knew that-- so his head popped up almost immediately. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said placatingly. “It’s just time for you to get up. You’re leaving today, remember?’

“Ugh,” he levered himself up and swung his legs off the couch, “I remember. What time is it?”

“Still early. You’ve got time. Why don’t you call O to come get you? I’m gonna start some coffee.” Clarke wasn’t entirely sure why she was being so nice-- no one would describe her as a morning person, even when she wasn’t hungover. But the hazy memory of him admitting that he was nervous, of him saying that he trusted her, made her want to cut him some slack.

Bellamy seemed to appreciate it, and the coffee, and didn’t mind when Clarke folded herself cross-legged onto the cushion next to him. For the fifteen minutes it took Octavia to get dressed and drive over, they sat on the couch, drinking their coffee in commiserating silence, the blanket he had slept with draped over both their legs. (Neither of them could remember who had put it there, but it was warm and comforting, so they didn’t question it.)

Eventually, two sharp honks from the driveway pierced the silence, and their sensitive eardrums. Peeling back the blanket, Bellamy got up and set his empty mug in the sink. Clarke wondered how she hadn’t noticed that he had fallen asleep with his shoes on. 

“Thanks,” he nodded by way of farewell.

“No problem.” As he turned toward the door, she called out. “Hey, Bellamy?” He stopped and looked back to where she still sat on the couch, hands wrapped around her mug, blanket now wrapped around her waist. “Don’t get too psyched out. You’ll be fine.”

He chuckled, then winced. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to hang out alone for two days with nothing to do but worry about this stupid show.”

She shrugged. He was right, she didn’t. But still. “You won’t be alone for long.”

Bellamy nodded again, this time with a tiny, grateful half-smile. “I know. See you soon, stranger.”

As the door closed behind him, Clarke realized what he meant. She had known it would be this way, but it still felt odd-- after today, she and Bellamy were officially strangers to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Onward to the show itself! Which I have been super excited to write, although it occurred to me tonight that, even if I only do one chapter per episode (which I'm not sure I wanna do), this thing is going to be long af. Strap in, y'all.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Russian Roulette is a game that some friends of mine and I really did take and endlessly modify to make it 1000x better (though not for your liver). I tried to make the rules somewhat apparent, but if you weren't clear and want to play the best drinking game ever, feel free to ask, and I'll break it down! (And if you haven't tried a Grateful Dead...do that.)
> 
> In the next chapter (episode?), we see Clarke fly out to meet Bellamy and the other girls. Then, the dreaded introductions. Will they be able to pull off pretending to be strangers, or will their years of history together give them away? Also, what will the rest of the Sky Crew be up to when they leave? Tune in next week (or whenever) for the season premiere of...The One!
> 
> [As always, thanks for reading! The positive feedback fuels my heart, so leave kudos, comment, pray for my eternal soul, whatever. It's all appreciated. And if you like bad jokes and hella Bellarke, once again, feel free to follow me on tumblr at maryam0revna.tumblr.com! I've gotten messages from so many people, and I want to hug literally every one of you.]


	5. Love is...Some Cool Spy Gadgets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the first episode! Yay! What's in store for our reality show contestants? And what's the Sky Crew up to while Mom and Dad are away?

Flying in planes had always made Clarke feel vaguely important, as if she were on her way to do Serious, Grown-up Things, and the flight to California was no different. At the moment, she felt specifically like James Bond, turning two little gadgets over in her hands. One was a tiny black square, big enough to hold a button, a solitary LED, and some wiry innards. The other was about the size of her palm, slim, and more than a little reminiscent of one of her mom’s old pagers. She thought back to that morning, when Raven and Monty had presented them to her with all the pomp and circumstance they could muster at five a.m.

 

_“I don’t...” Clarke was only halfway through her coffee and therefore not fully human yet. “I mean, thank you. But what are they?”_

_Monty rocked back onto his heels with a self-satisfied little grin. “The big one is from Raven, and the little one is from me. Well, from Moonshine Tech, I should say, since I kinda built it from company-funded scraps.”_

_“Oh, a present made out of scraps? I love it.”_

_“Trust me, you will,” he jabbed a finger at her, “when you find yourself needing it.” At Clarke’s expectant look, he went on. “Basically, this bad boy is for emergencies only, and only under very strict conditions. If you or Bellamy need to say something out of character really quickly, just press the button. It’ll knock out all the mic transmission within a five-foot radius for about a minute and a half. If you can sneak a peek at the little light, it’ll flash in one-second intervals when you’re down to your last ten seconds. That’s as long as we could make it work without it being too conspicuous, and even so, you’re gonna want to say what you need to say quickly. The show techs are gonna notice and come swooping in in under a minute.”_

_Now wearing a matching grin, Clarke slipped the little square into her pocket and made a mental note to stash it somewhere more secure once they were in the car. “Thanks, Monty.”_

_“Not a problem,” he nodded. “And you’re gonna like Raven’s thing even better.”_

_Before Clarke could ask, Raven took over. “Hell yeah you are, because it’s genius. So you know how there’s the whole problem with needing to talk to Bellamy but not being able to have a phone or computer or anything?” Without waiting for her friend to confirm what she already knew, she barrelled on, practically vibrating with repressed excitement. “Well, I fixed that for you. You both have one of these now, and the idea is that they’re like a combination of old-school alphanumeric pagers and walkie talkies._

_“They’ve got radio guts, so they’re proximity-based and don’t use any kind of cell service, meaning that the show people shouldn’t be able to tell you’re using them. And unless you’re up at some crazy elevation, they’ve got a range of about nine miles. So as long as you’re still staying in different wings of the same house, you should be fine. You’ll be able to send and receive messages, the device will only keep the last five logged, and it doesn’t have a ringtone or anything, for maximum stealth-- it just vibrates really softly. Is it perfect or what?”_

_Finally in control of her jaw again, Clarke stuttered, “How? How in the world did you manage to design and make two of these in just the last few weeks?”_

_Raven shrugged, like it was no big deal, just your average Monday. “The design has actually been floating out there for a while. And with a little help from my good friends, Wick and the 3D printer at the lab-- plus our disturbingly unchecked access to raw government resources-- you’d be surprised what kind of stuff we could cook up in a few weeks. Let’s just say that if we’d had another week or two, I probably could’ve gone full Q and disguised yours as a makeup compact.”_

_Abandoning her coffee, Clarke leapt forward to throw her arms around Monty and Raven. “Thank you so much, guys. You have no idea how much these are gonna help.”_

And they really didn’t. No idea at all. If having Clarke there was going to ease Bellamy’s nerves, having these little toys on hand would ease hers. Feeling much better than she had in the last few weeks, she shifted deeper into her seat, tilted her head back, and tried to catch a nap before the madness began.

 

 

“Madness” turned out to be a bit of an exaggeration, much to Clarke’s relief. She was picked up from the airport by a car service that took her straight to the hotel where all of the girls would be meeting with the producers and cast coordinators while their luggage was ferried off to the house. (Mansion, whatever.) The only unpleasant part so far was the weather, which was armpit-grade humid and resulted in a highly unattractive hair situation. Clarke resolved to use a little more product than usual when filming began, lest her TV debut be her playing the role of Poodle #1.

She looked around as the people wearing network-branded polos herded her and the other contestants into a giant conference room. There were maybe twenty other girls, which seemed like a lot for six weeks’ worth of eliminations. But the good news, Clarke realized as she really took in the women around her, was that her “competition” was uniformly gorgeous. She recognized a few as Bellamy’s type: leggy, concave abs, long brown hair, and eyes out of a Keane painting. 

If she was being honest with herself, her first instinct (as a woman brought up with the unforgiving beauty standards of the twenty-first century) was to feel a little insecure. She was pretty tall herself, and a healthy weight for her height, but it was hard not to feel intimidated in this crowd full of supermodel wannabes that looked like they actually belonged on TV. But then, as she always did, Clarke made herself get the hell over it. Obviously she looked good enough to be here-- God knows casting directors don’t have a reputation for valuing personality-- and anyway, she was just here for the free vacation and the good karma of helping a friend. Acquaintance. Guy.

While Clarke was still peering around the room, a blonde woman broke through the crowd and asked them to have a seat. They complied immediately, sliding into chairs around the giant conference table, under the sharp eyes of the Brienne-of-Tarth-lookalike who introduced herself as Byrne, the cast coordinator. For the second time that day, and perhaps in as many years, Clarke was a little intimidated. If there was ever someone that could make her question the feasibility of this whole ruse, it was Byrne. 

As Byrne launched into a lecture rehashing the rules that they were all contractually obligated to abide by, a few underlings passed out folders with all of the rules in print. Just in case any of the girls forgot about the first ten times they had been told.

“This is ridiculous,” breathed the girl to Clarke’s right. Yet another leggy brunette, whose eyeliner game was beyond strong. “Do they think we’re idiots?”

“It’s just a bunch of CYA, probably,” she shrugged. “That way, when someone gets kicked off for hooking up with the guy that holds the boom mic, she can’t sue the network.” 

The girl snorted. “You aren’t wrong. I’m Lexa,” she said, extending a hand just under the table.

Clarke gave her hand a firm shake, surprised at the strength of Lexa’s grip. “I didn’t expect anyone to be friendly. You know, that whole, ‘I’m here to get a man, not make friends,’ thing.” 

Rolling her eyes, Lexa shrugged. “The guy seems cool, but if that’s the kind of girl he’s into, it’s probably best that I get out early. That’s not my thing.”

“Mine either,” Clarke nodded. “And I’m not opposed to some bonding. We are going to be living together for six weeks.”

Lexa just gave her an enigmatic little smile and turned her attention back to Byrne.

 

 

The One mansion was gorgeous and, more importantly, full of alcohol. The contestants had been ferried to the house by a fleet of limousines at 3 o’clock, giving them four full hours to prepare for the all-important First Meeting. Clarke decided that she would be splitting her time equally between talking to her new housemates, getting dressed, and drinking. Which is how she ended up sprawled across her bed with a full bottle of prosecco that she and Lexa were rolling back and forth across the room as refills became necessary. 

She had chatted with some of the other girls in the kitchen, specifically the others that were going after the booze, although some were fastidiously sticking to the pitchers of cucumber water. So far, she could tell that she liked auburn-haired Harper, who seemed a little jittery, and reserved, doe-eyed Maya. And while she didn’t like to make snap judgements about people, there were a few that seemed to be distinctly in the “here for a man, not to make friends” camp. 

Foremost among them was a girl named Echo, who hadn’t really bothered to dress up for their first day, and had the casually dismissive air of a girl used to being considered “cool”. The kind of girl that could wear a straw fedora and not look like an asshole. From the way she sashayed into the house, claimed a bedroom, and retreated back into it with a pitcher of water without speaking to anyone else, she had immediately rubbed Clarke the wrong way. (At least she and Lexa had introduced themselves to the others.) But, she tried to be fair, it was entirely possible that the girl was just shy. Everyone manifested their anxieties in different ways, after all.

Everyone except Lexa, who seemed to have no anxieties at all. Neither did Clarke, for the most part, which made their room a relaxing haven away from the hustle of the other girls, but at least she pretended to be excited. In truth, she was a _little_ nervous, but it was more thanks to the cameramen that kept popping in and out of the bedrooms, not to mention the little cameras positioned in the corners with their blinking lights. But Lexa was a calming, if somewhat stoic presence.

Eventually, other girls piled into their room to escape the (wildly premature) getting-ready rush of girls flitting from bedrooms to bathrooms. Among them were Harper, Maya, and two other girls, who Clarke was reasonably sure were called Monroe and Fox. 

“Your hair is amazing,” Clarke gestured at Monroe's braided 'do with her half-empty flute. It was her third, and she was beginning to feel the knot in her stomach loosen.

“Thanks,” Monroe grinned. “Keep it to yourselves, but I’m actually a cosmetologist. I can do your hair for tonight, if you want. Mostly because you guys seem like you wouldn’t be the ones to yell at me if you didn’t like it.” 

“That would be great,” Maya chimed in, “if you wouldn’t mind. I can manage day-to-day stuff with my hair, but fancy updos are not my strong suit. And tonight’s going to be pretty formal, isn’t it?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah, it’s the first black-tie night. And Harper, if you have time after doing Maya’s, I’ll definitely take you up on the hair thing. I haven’t really got a handle on this humidity yet. It’s not much of an issue back in Virginia.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Monroe smiled from her perch at the end of Lexa’s bed. She glanced at her watch. “It’s five now, so if you guys want to go ahead and shower and do your makeup and stuff, I can come by and fix you up in plenty of time.” 

As if they were a football team that had declared, “Ready, break!” they all dispersed to find available showers. Clarke and Lexa had lucked out with an en suite, and they alternated showering and picking out their dresses for the night. While Lexa took the bathroom first, Clarke flicked through her recently-unpacked closet and pulled out a few contenders from her selection of floor-length dresses. Thanks to any number of cotillions from her privileged youth, a debutante ball, and several black-tie dinners with her parents, she had more than enough to choose from.

The first pick was white, one-shouldered, with minor embellishment. A little virginal, but striking. The second was midnight blue with beaded cap sleeves that sort of reminded her of military epaulets. The third was black and unadorned with a plunging neckline that just begged for statement necklace and a wrapping skirt that tied at the waist.

Clarke was still deliberating when Lexa emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel. That girl, Clarke decided, officially had balls, with all the cameras around. But she looked unfairly good without makeup, so why shouldn’t she? 

“Hey, second opinion?” the blonde called over her shoulder, glaring at the dresses as if it were their fault that she couldn’t choose.

Striding over until they were shoulder to shoulder, Lexa hummed in thought. “Depends on what you’re going for. The white says, ‘Ethereal but unthreatening; marriage material.’ The black says, ‘Elegant with an edge. Also, look at my waist and killer legs.’ And the blue says, ‘I could probably destroy you, and you would love every second of it.’ Your call.” 

Craning her neck to stare at her roommate out of the corner of her eye, Clarke said, “...that was amazing.” And without further ado, she promptly plucked up the blue dress and tossed it across her bed.

“Good choice,” Lexa nodded in approval before crossing the room to toy with her iPod, where it sat docked on a speaker. “Save the black for when it’s time to turn up the sex and the white for the end, when you’re going for the ring.”

Clarke’s eyes must have bulged a little, but she didn’t comment on the assumption that she would make it until the end. She was torn between being flattered, freaked at the prospect, and a little suspicious of how encouraging Lexa was being. So she settled for saying, “You, lady, are a masterful strategist.”

“What can I say?” Lexa shrugged, then pressed a button on her iPod. A beat later, Clarke recognized the opening chords of “Love is a Battlefield.”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “Get out.” But that didn’t stop her from humming along once she was in the shower. 

 

By the time seven rolled around, all of the girls were congregated in the biggest living room, as they had been instructed. Lexa was leaning against the arm of Clarke’s armchair, clad in a black dress with leather details that looked completely intimidating. Her eyeliner was once again fierce, and she looked for all the world like she was completely unconcerned with what they had been told was a critical part of the show. 

When Clarke had commented on it, she had simply said, “I’m not worried. I know what I look like, and I know what I have going for me. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t. It won’t invalidate me as a person.” Now, Clarke had always been more self-assured than average, a little cocky even, but she was pretty sure that Lexa was her new hero. 

After Byrne had popped her head into the living room and announced that they were ten minutes out, Clarke excused herself to the bathroom. Once safely locked in, she pulled Raven’s pager out of her clutch and fired off a quick message.

Clarke Griffin  
7:21 pm  
Testing 1 2 3. We’re leaving in 10. You ready?

Bellamy Blake  
7:23 pm  
More than. Bring on the ladies.

Clarke Griffin  
7:24 pm  
Don’t be gross. See you there. 

Stashing the pager and making her way back to the living room, Clarke was glad that Bellamy wasn’t antsy anymore; but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was on the verge of reverting back to being the silver-tongued, insincere womanizer he had been in college. Him pulling his head out of his ass and being more mature about his one-night encounters had played no small part of her ability to stomach his presence in recent years. The only upside of his shift in attitude was that Clarke was now able to worry about whether or not she had made a mistake in agreeing to help him-- could she really tolerate College Bellamy Redux for at least two weeks?-- instead of the fact that she was actively being filmed for national television. 

 

 

Somehow, Clarke ended up in a limo with Lexa, Harper, Fox, and Echo. She thought it was a little silly that they were literally driving just to the east wing of the same mansion, but she supposed it beat walking in heels any more than she had too. Plus, it gave her time to really objectively scope out the other girls. Lexa and Echo were tan, willowy, and sort of darkly gorgeous. They were both quiet, too, though Lexa’s silence was companionable, while Echo’s seemed to surround her in a bubble of pure, single-minded focus that none of them tried to disturb. Harper and Fox were petite, with the kind of long, chocolatey hair and pretty eyes that came off as All-American and wholesome. 

Clarke was sort of...Option C. She felt vaguely and unintentionally Aryan with her Nordic coloring, and a little curvier than the other girls. She had always appreciated her shape-- she was all of a size six in most dresses-- but it did make her stand out. She wasn’t sure how she felt about standing out, when her game plan had always been to fly under the radar. All she could do was play it by ear. 

Surprisingly, it took almost twenty minutes for their limo to reach the driveway. Then again, they had been in the third car in line, so maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Lexa got out first, characteristically fearless (and closest to the door). As she stepped out, Harper slid down into her seat. She was drumming her nails nervously on the leather upholstery, and seconds later, Echo spoke up.

“Nervous?” she asked, in the kind of voice that instinctively made Clarke suspicious. Too innocent. It reminded her of that saying about looking like the flower.

Now jiggling one foot, Harper nodded. “A little.” It wasn’t even a little bit convincing.

“Don’t be,” Echo murmured. “I mean, I’m a little worried that I’ll trip over my feet, but I’m such a klutz. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

When the soft knock came at the limo door, Harper was almost visibly sweating. Clarke watched through the tinted window as the girl took all of five wobbling steps before the rolled her ankle and dropped like a rock. She could see Bellamy’s dim form rush over to help her up, but that hardly helped. Clarke resisted the urge to look over at Echo incredulously-- there was no way she hadn’t planted that fear in Harper’s head unintentionally-- but she felt the seat give as the other girl leaned back and sighed, satisfied. Well, that sealed it. Echo was officially the first on her shit list.

As Clarke slid down the seat, Echo spoke again. “Good luck,” she smiled.

Putting on her game face, prepared to play the sweet but generic dating show contestant, Clarke smiled back as sincerely as she could manage. “Thanks. You too.” It helped that, regardless of how pretty and masterfully manipulative she was, Echo didn’t intimidate her in the least. Not after that underhanded move. Chances were, she was a coward.

Too soon, whatever set gofer was standing outside the door knocked and Clarke pulled the handle. Remembering those years of cotillion, she rotated gracefully in her seat before extending a leg and ducking out. She kept her generic, sincere smile smeared on, and strode toward Bellamy with her shoulders squared.

Her first instinct was to say something along the lines of, “You clean up nice.” Because, much to her chagrin, he really did. She hadn’t seen him in a suit before...and that was probably for the best. The one he was wearing was Italian cut, unless she was much mistaken, and it made his shoulders look

Anyway. He might’ve been a dick, but she couldn’t deny that he looked good. So she settled for extending a hand and saying, “Hi. I’m Clarke.” 

“Bellamy. Nice to meet you,” he said with one of those half-mouth smiles that she always found a little less irritating than his usual smirks. It made him look comfortingly like his sister. As he raised her hand to his lips, she kept her expression appropriately charmed, but she gave his hand a little squeeze that ground his fingers together. To his credit, he didn’t make a face. Instead his eyes flicked over her, as if taking her in for the first time, and when he looked up, they stayed a little hooded. “You look fantastic.”

Well. After that, no one would question him keeping her around, she thought. And maybe her flattered grin was a little too convincing as she said, “Thank you. You look pretty nice yourself.” 

“Thanks,” he grinned back, flashing a cheeky dimple. “Why don’t you head inside, get a drink, and we can catch up and talk some more about how pretty we are later?” 

She wasn’t sure if it counted as breaking character or not, but Clarke couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, grin fading to a smirk. “See you soon.” Shaking her head as she walked past him into the house, she decided that he definitely had the charm turned on. Whether or not it would slip into an obnoxious character regression, only time would tell. 

 

 

The first night, as Clarke understood it, involved Bellamy speaking to every girl for at least a few minutes. She and Lexa, wine glasses in hand, took up seats in the middle of the room and compared notes.

“So?” Clarke prompted. “Love at first sight?”

Lexa gave one of those little smiles that seemed to hold some dangerous secret. “He’s certainly charming. Saw my dress and said black is his favorite color. I said that black isn’t anyone’s favorite color. He replied, and I quote, ‘Well, it’s mine for tonight.’” 

Clarke couldn’t help but tip her head back and laugh. “I know what you mean about the charm. He kissed my hand, said I looked fantastic and, when I returned the compliment, said that we should talk later about how pretty we both are. He’s smooth.” 

“Also, hot,” Lexa pointed out. Something about the way her perfectly painted eyes went half-mast when she said it struck Clarke as a little contrived. Maybe she was disappointed, or didn’t think he lived up to the profile that the producers had given them? Before Clarke could say anything-- although she hadn’t quite made up her mind as to what she would even say-- her companion stretched languidly off the couch and said, “Speaking of which, I think I’ll go cut in.” Her eyes darted to where Bellamy stood talking to a short strawberry blonde in a green dress. (Clarke thought her name was Jenny, maybe?)

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Clarke giggled. Her insipid role was getting easier to play as she got more comfortable with the other girls, and with each successive glass of wine. 

A minute later, Maya came and folded herself into the seat Lexa had abandoned. “I like him,” she pronounced. 

“Well, it’s a good thing,” the blonde quirked an eyebrow at her. “But yeah, I do too.” 

They spent the next few minutes comparing introductions, including Maya’s blushing recap of their three-minute conversation earlier in the night. When she dubbed Bellamy, “very sweet”, Clarke almost couldn’t contain herself, but she managed to smile and say that she was glad they had hit it off. She wasn't sure that was something she should say to her "competition", but she meant it.

Eventually, Lexa returned, Bellamy in tow. “As promised, I’ve returned you safely to your friends,” he announced. 

Lexa graced him with another of her enigmatic smiles. “A man of his word.” 

He chuckled and ran a hand through his already artistically disheveled hair. Clarke caught what she knew was his nervous tic and wondered gleefully if he was intimated by Lexa. Excellent. But then Bellamy interrupted her inner moment of devious cackling, saying, “Clarke, right? Want to go for a walk?”

Dutifully, she nodded. “Absolutely. i’ve been dying to talk about our relative attractiveness.” 

She could’ve sworn he winked at her as he led her out the French doors onto the patio. “In all seriousness,” he began, steering them toward the garden, “are you enjoying yourself so far?”

Clarke met his eyes and gave her ring a purposeful little twist. “I am. What about you? Being surrounded by all these beautiful women must be a dream come true.” The best lies were rooted in the truth, and she was pretty sure their interactions would seem more natural if they were partly real.

He must’ve sensed she was leading them into familiar territory, because the little bit of tension that had drawn his shoulders up relaxed as he gave a little laugh. “I have no complaints. But the only one I’m interested in at the moment is you. Tell me about yourself.”

Nice. He was pitching her softballs, with just the right amount of flirtiness. He was good. “Hmmm,” she pretended to think. “I’m twenty-six, I live in Virginia, and I’m a doctor. A surgeon, specifically-- most of the way through a cardiothoracic fellowship.” She couldn’t help but add, nonchalant, “So if someone breaks your heart, I could probably put it back together.” The line was so cheesy, she was almost ashamed, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. (And honestly, she’d been waiting to make that joke for _years_.) 

Bellamy laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that she hadn’t heard in a while. His smile stayed as he led them to a little swing and sat down, but his voice was serious when he said, “I don’t doubt that you could.”

As the night went on, Clarke decided, she could officially understand for the first time how he had such good luck with the ladies. “Let’s hope I don’t have to. Now, your turn. Tell me about you.” She gave his shoulder an encouraging little nudge with her own.

Mimicking her introduction, he said, “I’m twenty-nine. Also from Virginia, incidentally. And I’m an attorney, so,” he cocked his head at her, “you know, power couple.” 

It was her turn to laugh now, for real. “I would say so. We could rule the Old Dominion with an iron fist.” It was around then, as they sad, chuckling idly, that it occurred to Clarke that they had been gone for some time now. She understood the temptation to stay in one’s comfort zone, but she couldn’t afford for people to think she was getting more attention than anyone else. So she stood, saying, “But I think I’ve monopolized you enough. Come on, let’s get you back to your other dates.” 

Bellamy followed her lead. “Shaking me off already?” he joked.

“Definitely not,” she looked at him head-on. “I’ve just got a feeling we’ll be seeing plenty of each other soon enough.”

His lips twisted into a wry little smirk-- now there was a familiar expression if there ever was one. “You know, something tells me you’re right.”

 

 

The rest of the night passed pretty uneventfully. Bellamy had to eliminate a few girls, ones that “it had been a pleasure to meet, but that he just hadn’t felt like he was the right guy for.” No one Clarke had met so far was eliminated, for which she was grateful. Less pleasant was the fact that Echo apparently won some kind of competition for the best first impression. Ugh. Trust Bellamy to be taken in by that kind of girl. 

After they had been schlepped back to their wing of the house, Clarke headed for the bathroom with her little pager. Hopefully Bellamy would be expecting a message and not take too long to reply, lest her keen-eyed roommate suspect she had Irritable Bowel Syndrome or something. Fortunately, it seemed that he was.

Clarke Griffin  
10:15 pm  
Have fun?

Bellamy Blake  
10:17 pm  
Definitely. What’s your professional diagnosis on the girls so far?

Clarke Griffin  
10:20 pm  
Maya, Harper, and Fox are absolute sweethearts. Lexa is intense, but super hot and actually really cool. And, from what I can tell, that Echo girl is a bitch. Not sure about anyone else yet.

Bellamy Blake  
10:23 pm  
No way. You know I liked Echo. Jealous, princess?

Clarke Griffin  
10:25 pm  
Repulsive. But seriously. She’s really standoffish and a little up herself. And she made Harper trip.

Bellamy Blake  
10:27 pm  
How? Did she somehow put a rock in front of her? Throw a banana peel?

Clarke Griffin  
10:28 pm  
It’s hard to explain. But you asked, and I’m telling you what I saw.

Bellamy Blake  
10:30 pm  
I know, and I appreciate it. Still gonna go with my gut. I’ll keep it in mind, though.

Clarke Griffin  
10:31 pm  
Whatever you say. 

 

 

The1_Official:  
Alright guys, what did you think of this season’s premier? Is Bellamy going to find true love with one of these girls? #theone

joshtasticXX:  
@the1_official my girlfriend made me watch, and tbh, that echo chick made it all worth it.

-RT’d by the1_official and 20 others-

angel_bear97:  
@the1_official Idk. Echo might be the early fave, but she skeeved me out. #theone

jasman_j:  
@the1_official i liked that clarke girl. he seemed more relaxed around her. she’s in my top 5. #theone #powercouple

-RT’d by the1_official, alliemayy, itsmegyall, and 5 others-

alliemayyy:  
@the1_official ngl, I liked clarke too. (that chemistry tho.) but jennifer s. from connecticut was super cute. and jaclyn from nyc. #theone

green-machine:  
@the1_official #powercouple 

corvus-reyes:  
@jasman_j @green-machine would you guys please quit dicking around? 

octagonblake:  
@jasman_j @green-machine SERIOUSLY shut up. 

 

Octavia Blake  
11:11 pm  
Don’t you DARE get that fucking hashtag trending. Clarke will literally murder you when she gets back. You know she didn’t want people to pull for her.

Jasper Jordan  
11:13 pm  
oh come on, o. just havin some fun. and it’s not like they can see it anyway. 

Raven Reyes  
11:20 pm  
No, but I can, and I will personally break your fingers if you don’t stop. That’s messed up, and you know it. 

Monty Green  
11:25 pm  
But how will you break our fingers when we’re on the other side of the country? #powercouple #youcantstopme #butsrslywewillstop

Octavia Blake  
11:28 pm  
Oh yeah. Are you guys ever gonna tell them that you’re...yknow...there with them?

Monty Green  
11:30 pm  
Maybe. I could probably get little notes to them. We’ll see.

Jasper Jordan  
11:30 pm  
#montylies #iwillnotstop #powercouple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MONTY AND JASPER ARE THERE WITH THEM? *wah wah waaaahhhh* Only time will tell, my friends. In our next episode, The One ladies and gentleman go on their first group date. And, just as Clarke predicted, they'll be seeing plenty of each other... Tune in next week (or, like, as soon as I can manage) for the next episode of The One! 
> 
> (#powercouple)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this took so long to update! Between writing papers, short stories, and poems for school (the perils of the creative writing emphasis program) and being on that grad school anxiety grind, I've just been feeling a little creatively drained lately. But I worked on it diligently, bit by bit, and here it is! Don't forget to leave feedback-- of the nice variety, please! (Remember those dark days of ff.net where we were all like, "NO FLAMEZ"??? Dark days. Also, people on there were actual assholes, and you guys are angels.) Anyway, review, leave kudos, light a candle for me at your local church. Your call. Ily.
> 
> Final note: I know there's been some controversy in the fandom about the Clexa kiss, and let me just say, if you've got a problem with it for literally any reason-- "it's not Bellarke", "Clarke isn't bisexual", "I'm a huge baby"-- please do me a favor and don't read my shit. Because there will be subtle Clexa undertones. Bi representation aside, they have fantastic chemistry, and while I am hopeless Bellarke trash (#endgame), I'm 100% on board with them having a Thing. Bye. I still ly.


	6. Love is...A Love Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially the first half of episode two. There are PUNS and BOATS and MINOR INJURIES.

Having only watched snippets of The One before (at Raven and Octavia’s behest), Clarke was wildly unprepared for how calm the first week would be. Every morning, Byrne called them down into the same front living room and briefed them on their schedule for the day. For the first two days, their “schedule” consisted of settling into the house, getting to know one another, and making mandatory trips to the confession booth.

The whole confession booth thing seemed kind of weird to Clarke. She understood its purpose, and she was sure it would come in handy later in the show, but at the moment, what did any of them have to talk about? That said, it was mandatory, so she made an appearance like everyone else. 

Trying to seem as unremarkable as she could, she did her hair and makeup no nicer than she would for work and put on the smile she always found herself using at her stepfather’s political events. She spoke calmly but clearly for the prescribed five minutes, saying how much she was enjoying meeting the other girls and what a good first interaction she thought she had with Bellamy.

“He seems like a great guy,” she admitted, faux-shy. “He’s funny. I think we’re kind of on the same wavelength in that sense. I definitely felt comfortable around him.” That was true enough. For all their other many, many incompatibilities, joking around with each other (in their rare moments of civility, of which there were more lately) had always come naturally. And of course she felt comfortable around the guy-- they had known (if not liked) each other for something like a decade and had seen each other in various states of inebriation, undress, and emotional stability. What was there to feel weird about after that? 

Okay. If she was being honest with herself-- which she wasn’t always-- she would be forced to admit that she had been thrown a little off-kilter the night before. At no point in the decade of their acquaintance had she had that overwhelming charm lasered in on her. She had seen it in action, mostly in bars and at parties, and it had seemed slimy at the time. This was probably because she knew that he was just trying to get into girls’ pants and not make any kind of personal connection. But the charm coupled with the knowledge that Bellamy wasn’t trying to sleep with her? It was...potent. Ironically. She wasn’t too sure what to do with this new knowledge, though, except to assume that he would do well on the show, if he chose to.

Speaking of which, the first group date was rapidly approaching, and all of the girls were abuzz, speculating as to what they might be doing, who might be included, and what they should wear. As much as Clarke wanted to seem as invested as everyone else, she was quite content to join the little knot of girls splayed across deck chairs around the pool. Per Byrne’s orders, she made sure to slather herself with sunscreen before heading out; but even then, she had only managed to settle into the chair next to Lexa for all of five seconds before she was flagged down by one of the set techs. Trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible (again, per Byrne’s instruction) she wandered off to the side of the yard where the camera equipment was set up. 

When the tech that had beckoned her over did nothing more than squint at her bathing suit top, she asked, “So, what’s up?”

Unperturbed, the tech jerked a thumb toward a sizeable little shed about thirty yards away. “Sound guys said there’s a problem with your mic. Can’t see why, but you might as well go let them have a look, or we’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Nodding, Clarke adjusted her top, feeling only slightly perturbed by the girl’s scrutiny, and made her way across the lawn. The shed was much bigger up close, more like an outbuilding, if an outbuilding were just dropped onto the property with seemingly no logic to its placement. Unsure of what the procedure was for this sort of thing and not wanting to interrupt, she knocked at the door and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long before the door was flung open and two pairs of hands hauled her inside. Never much one for surprises, she let out muffled, “Fuck,” and jerked back at an angle that she knew for a fact gave her no less than 32 chins. (If she’d had the time to think of it, she probably would’ve hoped there were no cameras in the sound shed.) It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the shed, but when they did, she felt her jaw literally go slack.

Before her stood Monty and Jasper, grinning at her with mixed looks of excited anticipation and fear. 

“Surprise?” Monty asked. Jasper fluttered nervous, half-hearted jazz hands.

Not sure whether to laugh or scream, Clarke settled for hissing, “What the hell are you two doing here?” 

“Well,” Jasper began confidently, “...Monty tells the story so much better than I do. Buddy?”

Holding up a finger, Monty reminded her, “We’re your friends, and we’re here to help. Does anything else really matter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fair. Well, remember how we were making that big deal a while back?” Monty took her silence as confirmation. “Long story short, we ended up in talks with another company that was going after our acquisition too, and we made a deal: we bought the company, and in exchange for them not outbidding us, we took on some contracts for them at a pretty steep discount. It seemed fair enough, and it turned out, one of those jobs was for this network. Naturally, once we found out you and Bellamy were on the show, we made up some technical bullshit reason for us to be on-site. You know, to supervise the new equipment. But really to help you guys!” He ended his spiel with an expectant look.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at them. “Does Bellamy know about this? And how exactly do you plan on helping?” 

“First off,” Jasper jumped in, “yes, Bellamy knows. We told him last night. And secondly, we’re working on that. We’re thinking that we can help you guys, like, strategize? It would be totally inconspicuous if you both just had some technical issues once in a while.” 

“And,” Monty continued, “we could try and manipulate some things. Subtly, of course. Like, Bellamy said you really don’t like this one girl in particular?”

Clarke sighed and fluffed at her hair. “Of course he would say that. It’s not that I don’t like her-- well, I guess I don’t really, but that’s not the point. He wanted to know which girls are cool and which aren’t, and she’s kind of a huge bitch. But he likes her and doesn’t believe me. Whatever. His funeral.”

The boys exchanged a wry look. “Good old Bellamy,” Monty shook his head. “But that’s where we can help. Basically, we can hold onto some footage of whatever girls you guys think might be worth a closer look, for better or worse, then show it to him later. Before eliminations. What’d you say that girl’s name is?”

“That’s...actually a good idea. And her name’s Echo. Definitely watch her. You might want to keep an eye on Harper and Maya too. They’re both really sweet but quiet, so I could see them flying too far under the radar to get very far.”

“What about your roommate? You guys seemed to hit it off pretty quickly.” Jasper winked. “You guys could probably say good- _bi_ to the show and go do your own thing.” 

Clarke tried not to laugh and failed. “I didn’t come here to pick up girls, but thanks for having my best interests at heart. Anyway, I probably wouldn’t focus in on her. She’s really great, and I think if she wants to play the game, she’ll play, but... I don’t know. She’s kind of hard to get a read on. I’ll let you know if anything changes, though.” Taking a breath, she swept them both in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re both here.” 

She could feel Monty sigh on one side of her head and Jasper hum contentedly on the other. Before they could get too comfortable, she whispered in their ears, “You’re still in so much trouble, though.” 

 

 

Bellamy Blake  
6:15 am  
Get up, buttercup. Today’s the first group date, and since it’s divided alphabetically, I’m willing to bet you’re in the group.

Clarke Griffin  
6:25 am  
1\. How dare you? I was asleep. You’re a monster.  
2\. Please tell me that isn’t a new nickname. Princess is bad enough. 

Bellamy Blake  
6:30 am  
Forgot how much you’re NOT a morning person. Get some coffee in you. Gonna need it.

 

Sure enough, an envelope was delivered to the house around mid-morning, announcing the first group date and the women that would be participating. Clarke was on the list, as Bellamy had predicted, but the only other name she recognized was Harper’s. She couldn’t for the life of her remember the other girls’ last names-- she wasn’t even sure they had ever mentioned them-- but apparently Lexa, Maya, and the others were further down the alphabet. Which...okay, sucked, but it was no big deal. All she had to do was hang out with Bellamy and some girls, which kind of sounded like a typical Saturday night in college. 

And the date itself actually sounded like fun. The little note had made some genuinely terrible puns (in true reality show fashion) about getting “naughty and nautical”, so Clarke felt like it was safe to assume that boats were probably involved, and _hell yes, boats._ Granted, it meant a ton of time on camera in a bikini, but that was hardly an issue-- she hadn’t been on a boat in ages, and modesty was no match for sheer, single-minded enthusiasm. According to the note (and Byrne’s subsequent elaboration), the six girls on the list would be picked up from the house in just over an hour, so they all fluttered back to their rooms to get ready.

“Getting ready” for Clarke consisted of deliberating over a swimsuit and quickly groping her legs to make sure they were still reasonably stubble-free. (She’d shaved, like...two days ago? Three? Whatever, they felt fine.) Very much like the first night, though, she found herself conflicted when it came to what she ought to wear.

“I like the gray one’s high waist,” she explained to Lexa, who was lying on her stomach and watching her with growing amusement. “But the minty-turquoise one has an underwire top. And the red one is just cute.” 

“How,” Lexa drawled, “do you dress yourself on a regular basis? It seems like you’re not great at it. Or at least the decision-making part.”

Clarke glared at her out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not usually on television on a regular basis. Anyway, I’m a doctor. I wear scrubs. A white coat, if I’m feeling fancy. When I’m not working, I literally just wear whatever’s comfortable and moderately cute.” 

“Comfortable and moderately cute! Apply that logic to this,” Lexa gestured at the pile of bikini parts strewn across the blonde’s bed. 

Hmmm-ing decisively, Clarke stared at the mess of tops and bottoms for a long second, then snatched up two pieces before disappearing into the bathroom. She emerged wearing the high-waisted gray bottoms and the turquoise underwire top. “The bottoms and the underwire are comfortable, and the color combination is cute,” she proclaimed triumphantly.

“Yes! And,” her roommate jabbed a finger at her, “the underwire does wonders for your boobs. Which, congratulations, by the way. Damn.” 

Clarke laughed, but she couldn’t help but think about what Jasper had said about saying good- _bi_ to the show. It wasn’t an unappealing prospect, and she was getting some serious vibes from this girl. She stopped herself before that train of thought could get out of the station. She might not be here to find a boyfriend, but she wasn’t here to find a girlfriend either. So she settled for laughing and saying, “Well, thanks,” before putting on a pair of shorts, an unbuttoned button-down, and a pair of preppy boat shoes that she had brought more for comfort than the possibility of actual usefulness.

“Comfortable?” Lexa asked with an indulgent smile.

“Very. Moderately cute?”

“Definitely.”

They exchanged goofy little smiles, and for the first time, Clarke felt like she might actually be having fun here.

 

 

As before, the girls were piled into a limo-- although, with just six of them, they only needed one-- for what turned out to be a relatively short drive. They spent the majority of the ride introducing themselves, although they had all crossed paths at least once by then. Besides Clarke and Harper, there was an Alison, a Therese, a Bree, and a Jennifer (who preferred _not_ to be called Jenny, please). They were all very pretty, very friendly, with just the kind of homogenous interchangeability that Clarke was going for. She decided that she would watch them, learn their not-too-long laughs and winsome smiles, and set herself up to bow out gracefully mid-season. Simple yet brilliant, she liked to think.

When they finally came to a stop, the door was opened and the ladies were ushered out onto a gravel road just yards away from a huge, clear lake. About ten yards away, Bellamy stood on a short pier, at the end of which was possibly the most gorgeous boat Clarke had ever seen in her life. Well, she’d seen yachts, like the Jahas’ and her mom’s parents’, but this one was smaller and impossibly sleek. Compared to her dad’s old boat, all white and scuffed with its giant outboard motor, this was a Cadillac. She wanted to touch it, immediately. 

The other girls instantly scurried to close the distance between themselves and the pier. Harper shot her an excited little grin before taking off, and Clarke upped her speed to match. Clarke Griffin wasn’t the type of woman to run after a man, but for a boat like that, a bitch might just power-walk. 

Bellamy looked genuinely pleased (if a little smug) when the girls reached him. “Ladies,” he rumbled, all basso and charming. “We’re going for a ride.” 

“You know how to drive this thing?” Jennifer-Not-Jenny teased. (Clarke decided she liked her. Also, it was a valid question.)

“I do, actually.” He inclined his head, as if somehow sharing a secret with six girls at once. “The producers made me learn.” 

They all twittered, and Clarke tried her best to join in, tearing her eyes away from the magnificent beast floating just yards away.

At Bellamy’s prompting, they all boarded via the short built-in ladder on the back. He very courteously handed them onto the gently rocking craft, only letting go when they were safely and steadily on deck. Clarke made a point to be the first one on-- it helped her act to look eager, and anyway, she _was_ eager. She also knew there would be a scramble for the co-pilot spot, and by God, she wanted a look at that dash. 

Once everyone was aboard, the five girls all seated comfortably on the leather, U-shaped bench, Bellamy stepped on himself and instructed them to hold onto their hats. (Bree was actually wearing a straw sunhat, and she dutifully pressed a hand to the top of it.) They took off more smoothly than Clarke would’ve expected, headed straight for the middle of the lake. She took note of the smaller boats laden with camera equipment, and another that looked like some sort of rescue craft on hand for insurance purposes. 

As they reached a comfortable coasting speed, Bellamy swiveled his head to look at Clarke, who was engrossed with the dash panel. God, even the gauges were beautiful. 

He interrupted her awe, remarking, “Nice boat, huh?”

She turned on him, incredulous. “Nice? Oh my God, Bellamy. This is a Hacker-Craft sportabout. Mahogany body, leather upholstery, and above-average capacity, but still with a powerful I/O motor, making it literally the lovechild of a sport boat and a runabout. ‘Nice’ is an understatement. This is a god among boats.” 

Eyes crinkling at the corners, he shook his head and laughed. “Look at you, princess. Boat enthusiast?” As soon at the word ‘princess’ was out of his mouth, his eyes widened fractionally, but he barrelled on, his question coming out a little stilted. 

It was a slip, but he had said it so casually, Clarke figured that if she called attention to it, it would seem natural for him to use it again later and not have to worry about repressing it. (That was pretty much how the nickname had gotten started in the first place, anyway.) “Oh, princess, huh?” she demanded, playing up a sort of flirtatious indignation. “Very funny.”

Bellamy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled ever so slightly. “Suits you,” he pronounced, and damned if that wasn’t exactly how their conversation had played out the first time he called her that. Of course, there had been a lot more vitriol and a lot less smiling, but still. 

It made Clarke grin a little too, remembering. “I accept the title,” she bowed her head, “and as my first royal decree, I demand to know where we’re going.”

His eyes lit up as he slowed the boat to a stop, and she noticed that they were well away from the shore. Instead of answering her directly, Bellamy crossed the deck and pulled open a hatch, from which he drew a massive piece of folded-up plastic and a small, boxy piece of machinery. To the group, he asked, “Have any of you ever been tubing before?” 

_Oh my God._ Clarke could have combusted on the spot. Instead, she nodded, along with two of the other girls, as Bellamy hooked the tube up to the pump and inflated it. 

He chatted with the other girls as he waited for the tube to blow up and subsequently attached it to the end of the boat. Once it was all ready to go, he once again addressed the group. “Does anyone wanna go first, show the rest of us how it’s done?” 

Clarke wanted to. She wanted to so badly. But she had already drawn enough attention to herself, sitting up front and talking to Bellamy while the other girls sat together behind them. Time to take a metaphorical back seat. 

Instead, to her (pleasant) surprise, Harper volunteered to go first, strapping a slim lifejacket over her black bikini and gripping two of the tube’s handles before jumping into the water. She was a small girl, and most of her body fit on the inflated tube, but Clarke wondered if her grip would be quite strong enough. 

But Bellamy was a surprisingly considerate driver, mainly going in quick, straight lines before looping into gentle turns that were easy to ride out. Harper climbed back onto the deck a few minutes later, damp and elated. She had held on the entire time. 

Therese was next. She had no experience with watersports, so Bellamy drove even slower for her. All the same, she lost her grip after the second loop, and she slid off the tube, skipping across the surface of the water like an ungainly rock before going under. She surfaced a moment later, buoyed by her vest, spluttering but grinning. 

After all of the other girls had taken a turn, Clarke finally shucked her clothes and stood up. 

“I take it you’ve done this before, Miss Boat Enthusiast,” Bellamy raised an eyebrow. She knew that look, and it boded well for no one. She wasn’t worried, though.

“Maybe once or twice,” she shrugged, but she couldn’t keep the mischief off her face any better than he could.

“Then I don’t have to take it easy on you?” The question was innocent (if something of a double entendre) but the tone was fraught with challenge.

She zipped up her vest decisively and smirked right back. “Do your worst.” 

Moments later, Clarke almost regretted saying that, but she was having far too much fun. Bellamy was pushing the boat faster and faster, turning it at ever sharper angles. The sportabout was bigger than the average sport boat, but its turn radius was still impressive, and Clarke had to throw all her weight into the turns to avoid being thrown off. Once or twice, her body was fully off the tube, but her grip was sure, and she always found her way back on.

Eventually, her arms grew tired, and she decided that she had shown off enough. (She didn’t know how the producers would edit this part, but she felt certain that she had gotten caught up in the fun and allowed herself to stand out. Not good.) With that, Clarke waited until Bellamy yanked her into yet another treacherous turn and intentionally made a rookie mistake: resisting the angle. As the boat went right and the raft went left, she bore hard to the right and allowed herself to be ripped off. 

It was just as thrilling and terrifying as it had been when she was seven, tubing for the first time with her dad and Thelonius, Wells laughing at her from the back of the boat. She felt herself barrel-roll at least twice before she finally submerged, water flooding her nose. Unpleasant, but still fun. As she swam back up to the boat, she was met with hoots and light applause from the other girls. Not-Jenny had slid forward into her seat, so she collapsed into the vacated spot with a happy sigh.

“Nicely done,” Bellamy allowed, sounding only a little put out. “But no fair letting go on purpose.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clarke demurred, accepting a bottle of water and a towel from Harper. 

He bit back a rueful smile before turning around to take the wheel again. 

Since Jennifer had usurped her spot (which she had actually hoped someone would), Clarke was content to make idle conversation with the other girls about how much fun they were having and how far out of socket their arms had nearly been ripped as they clung to the raft. Clarke showed off the impressive set of reddening welts on her shoulder, side, and calf-- typical war wounds from tubing, she and Harper explained, usually from running into debris in the water. 

That got the others started noticing their own blossoming bruises and comparing to see whose was grossest, laughing and passing around bottles of water all the while. Clarke couldn’t help but look around the half-circle of them with a sort of fond affection. These girls might have initially seemed like bland, faceless elimination fodder to her strategic eye; but they were actually pretty adorable, and she found herself wishing they could all stay. 

 

Not long after they put the tube away, the boat sidled up to another pier, and a set assistant came out of the woodwork to help tie it up. From what Clarke could tell, they were on almost the opposite side of the lake. Ever the gentleman (???), Bellamy climbed onto the pier first and helped them all out. As Clarke reached out to take the proffered hand, her shirt-- still unbuttoned and loose-- caught a breeze that knocked her left sleeve askew. She didn’t realize that it had exposed the marks on her shoulder until she tried to catch Bellamy’s eye, only to find him glaring at down at her arm with his lips pursed. 

His eyes flicked back up to hers, and he cocked his head, still frowning. _You okay?_

She gave as small a nod as she could manage and smiled reassuringly. _Fine_. Whether for the assistance or the concern or both, she gave his hand a little squeeze before letting go. “Thanks.” 

 

 

As the group of them made its way further inland, they arrived at an ornate sort of pavillion, sparkling white against the trees and obviously put here just for this occasion. It was decorated and stocked for lunch. It was also surrounded by cameras mounted in trees and at angles under the eaves of the pavilion's roof. “Cozy,” Clarke thought. 

They settled in neatly, three of them on either side of the man they were all ostensibly here to date. Clarke was careful to situate herself strategically between Harper and Jennifer: Harper was adorably shy when it came to small talk, and Jennifer was all sly flirtation. Between them, Clarke could comfortably fade into the background, throw in the occasional comment, and enjoy her (objectively delicious) sandwich. And just like that, the afternoon passed pleasantly and without incident.

Well, mostly without incident. After they had all finished their lunch (and, for some of them, an ill-advised amount of wine) they headed back to the boat. Given how much twisting and turning they had done in the middle of the lake, Clarke had a hard time predicting how long the return trip would take-- maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty if Bellamy kept them at a leisurely pace; she hoped he would, as the sun was setting, and it was going to be beautiful when it dipped into the water.

They were about ten minutes into the return trip, and Clarke was cheerfully debating Harper on the relative difficulties of open-heart surgery and giving an overcaffeinated six year-old pageant queen a spiral perm. (“Your guy stays right where you put him, doesn’t he? No squirming once you’re elbow-deep in that mess?” “Well yeah, but messing up a perm won’t literally kill a person.” “You’ve obviously never met Braelyn’s mother.”) Then, above the sound of their giggles, Bellamy’s voice floated back to her.

“Hey, Clarke? Can you come give me a hand?” She could read the suppressed panic in his tone like it was written in front of her. She deflected Harper’s puzzled look with a shrug and a smile before making her way to the front of the boat. On her way, she passed Allison, who had been sitting up front and had apparently forfeited her position. 

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked lightly, once she reached his side. His face was relaxed, but the corner of his mouth was just pinched enough to hint at trouble.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but,” he nodded toward the dash, his dark curls mussed by the wind, “that temperature gauge is a little on the warm side. You said you had experience with boats, so I thought I’d double-check.” 

Bracing a hand on his side (which was itself unreasonably warm, given the wind and the fact that his shirt was still draped over his seat), she peered around him to get a better look. “Wow,” she whispered. The needle was almost all the way to H. “That’s not great.”

Not seeming to notice her hand, Bellamy looked around for the standby boats. They were too far away to get there in time, and having the boat break down would be pretty much the worst way this day could end. The worry started to show more obviously on his face.

Struck with a resurgence of old, old knowledge, Clarke looked up at him and patted his side soothingly. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got an idea. Just get us to a stop and turn her off.” 

Bellamy looked unconvinced, but he trusted her. If she had ever doubted it, that trust showed itself in the engine’s quiet death, leaving them motionless and nowhere near shore. Either her idea would work, or he would have to bite the bullet and flag the standby boats.

A lilting hum rose from the other girls as they asked, as one, what was going on.

Saving Bellamy the embarrassment of explaining, Clarke spoke up authoritatively as she stepped out of her shorts. “I’m just gonna check something out on the boat.”

“There’s not a problem, is there?” asked Bree, genuinely concerned. 

“Probably not,” Clarke shook her head, shrugging her shirt off and, to her surprise, into Bellamy’s waiting hands. “Just taking a look.”

Talk resumed, quieter now, as Bellamy soothed the girls and Clarke made for the back of the boat. She lowered herself down the ladder and swam around until she found the raw water intake. Steeling herself for the cool water, she ducked under and opened her eyes, looking straight into the intake valve. She resurfaced, relieved, and bit her lip as she groped down into the valve. Moments later, she held before her a tangle of weeds and what looked like a plastic six-pack ring. Gross. Clarke flung it as far away as she could (which, to be fair, wasn’t very far, but hopefully far enough) and reached down again. When she came up empty-handed, she swam back around and climbed up the ladder.

“What was wrong?” Harper asked, giving her a hand up. 

“Nothing.” Well. “Nothing major anyway. Just more evidence that littering is crime.” With that, Clarke made her way back to the front of the boat where Bellamy was waiting by the steering wheel, watching her. “Try it now,” she instructed.

Bellamy cranked the boat back to life and watched as the needle evened out once more. He looked back at her but still didn’t speak, just shifted in his chair.

“Blocked intake valve,” she explained. “Just some weeds and stuff. It’s all clear now.” She resisted the urge to give her staring friend a hard side-eye and said instead, “Hey, what’s a girl gotta do to get a dry towel around here, huh?” 

That got his attention. “Uh,” he gave his head a little shake and reached back to scratch at his neck as he swivelled around. Finally lighting on the cabinet he wanted, he pulled out a soft pink towel and handed it over to her. “Sorry, here. Thanks for taking care of that.” He focused his attention on the dash as he got them up to speed once more.

Clarke just chuckled and stood to wrap the towel around herself. “Not a problem. Other than that little hiccup, are you having a good time?” 

“Yeah,” he looked back at her, one hand still on the wheel. “I enjoy this kind of stuff. I don’t always have time for it with work and everything, and I never really did it as a kid, so...it’s nice.” 

“Good.” She was almost relieved at Bellamy reverting back to his usual honest, inelegant speech. All the smooth talking from the first night had been...weird. Charming, but weird. And something else was strange... “Oh!” she frowned. “I just realized that you never got a turn on the raft.”

He shrugged, but she could tell he was a little disappointed at the reminder. “It’s no big deal. I’m driving this thing, right?” 

“I could’ve driven,” Clarke scoffed. “Besides, I owe you one for putting me through the wringer earlier. Did you see me fly off?”

“Another time?” he asked, fiddling with his sporty-looking watch.

“Another time,” she nodded, giving her ring a twist. Whatever happened after the show was over, there was no way she was passing up the opportunity to throw Bellamy Blake off a tube.

A slow, gratifying grin spread over his face, and he ducked his head a little. “Anyway, I’m still convinced you let go on purpose.”

“I would never,” Clarke flexed her hands in her lap, pointedly not touching her ring.

Bellamy’s grin stretched even wider at that, then faltered as his gaze traveled downward. For a moment Clarke was almost affronted, remembering Lexa’s assurance that morning that her boobs looked fantastic, and who the hell looks at fantastic boobs and fucking _frowns_? But then Bellamy, after a moment of hesitation, reached out and brushed a thumb over the constellation of welts on her shoulder. They had faded a little, but they were still red against her starting-to-tan skin. “You sure that’s alright, princess? I know you have more than those.” 

The gesture was a little too familiar, and for a moment, Clarke felt a stab of worry about their whole ‘strangers’ ruse. But, at the same time, the sunset was turning out to be just as glorious as she had predicted, and he hadn’t moved his hand-- this was going to make for some great tv. 

“That’s Doctor Princess, thank you,” she corrected, leaning her shoulder into the palm of his hand ever so slightly. “And yeah, it’s fine. You should’ve seen me as a kid. My best friend and I used to spend whole days out on the water and come home covered in bruises. Well, I would, anyway. He, on the other hand, would pretend that having darker skin meant he was invincible.” The memory of Wells warmed her, and she knew that Bellamy wouldn’t ask any questions that she wouldn’t want to answer. In addition to it being too early in the show for that kind of depth, he knew talking about Wells or her father on television wasn’t something to be done lightly.

Instead, he pulled her towel tighter around her and gripped the wheel again. “I think every kid feels invincible. All my bruises as a kid came from me trying to fight older, much bigger boys at school.” 

“Why Bellamy Blake, you troublemaker!” She had seen him in a handful of bar fights, and it wasn’t really surprising to know that the instinct had come naturally. 

He laughed and launched into a story that she had heard at least three times before, about how his twelve year-old self had won a fight against a boy that was picking on Octavia, only to have Octavia kick him in the shins and insist that she had the situation under control. 

It made for a pleasant ride back to the limos, and neither of them could bring themselves to worry about being conspicuous. They had learned long ago that their relationship didn’t always have many high points, so it was best to just enjoy them when they came around. Even with twenty tv cameras and a boat full of girls, this was definitely a high point.

 

the1_official:  
So, what does everyone think about the first group date?? Keep watching this week’s episode of The One to see the first one-on-one! #theone

lannah-bannanah43:  
@the1_official I’m gonna go ahead and call it that Jennifer S. makes it into the top 3. Girl’s got game. #theone

-RT’d by jill093, DukeAnon, literaldorito, and 13 others-

jill093:  
@the1_official jennifer s has my vote so far. she’s funny. i like clarke too, but she’s kinda quiet sometimes. that therese girl is dumb af tho

jonnnnnnnnathan_b:  
@the1_official @jill093 How DARE you talk shit about my girl Therese?? She’s adorable, and Jennifer has a shrill-ass voice. #byefelicia

m-organ-donor:  
@the1_official Everyone is insane. Clarke > Jennifer literally all day long, yall. 

-RT’d by con-door3, itsmegyall, and 6 others-

m-organ-donor:  
@the1_official Seriously. That chemistry though. Clarke ftw. (Is #powercouple still a thing? Can we do something with #princess ? Bc that was KILLED ME.)

-RT'd by jasman_j-

br87lnt:  
@the1_official @m-organ-donor WHY AREN'T MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THE PRINCESS THING?

m-organ-donor:  
@the1_official Did you see his face when Clarke got back on the boat at the very end? And her face when he put his hand on her shoulder? 

m-organ-donor:  
@the1_official Heart eyes, my friends. Those were heart eyes.

jill093:  
@the1_official @jonnnnnnnnathan_b u can go fuck yourself

jasman_j:  
@the1_official #powercouple

green-machine:  
@jasman_j DUDE

octagon_blake:  
...#powercouple

-Favorite’d by jasman_j and green-machine-

raven-reyes:  
@octagon_blake wait this took a turn

 

Raven Reyes  
8:32 pm  
Octavia, what the hell was that about? I thought we said no #powercouple. 

Octavia Blake  
8:34 pm  
...

Raven Reyes  
8:36 pm  
PLEASE for the love of God tell me you aren’t. 

Octavia Blake  
8:38 pm  
...I might be?

Jasper Jordan  
8:40 pm  
YAAAASSSSS

Monty Green  
8:42 pm  
Whoo hoo!

Raven Reyes  
8:44 pm  
IT IS AN ACT. AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT REMEMBERS THAT IT’S AN ACT?

Jasper Jordan  
8:46 pm  
bellamy couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag unless it led directly into a girl’s pants, and clarke’s pants have a padlock. look at those heart eyes, reyes. rewind your dvr and look at them.

Raven Reyes  
8:48 pm  
You’re all crazy. They’ve been gone for less than a week, and all of a sudden, they’re magically into each other? Bearing in mind that they are PRETENDING TO BE INTO EACH OTHER. You’re crazy.

Octavia Blake  
8:50 pm  
But think about it, R. We both said they always had weird chemistry back in the day. They danced around it then, but now, being forced into all of these romantic situations... Who knows? I’m just saying, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

Raven Reyes  
8:53 pm  
Okay, okay, I get what you’re saying. Sorta. I can maybe see it? We’ll just have to keep watching and see. Until then, though, I’m not encouraging this #powercouple nonsense. Because if they come back and (as is most likely) aren’t together, they will merge into a two-headed monster and literally eat us alive.

 

 

Jasper Jordan  
8:58 pm  
#powercouple lives. grassroots shipping. #powercouple

Monty Green  
9:00 pm  
You know sending that to just me instead of the group message is basically the opposite of rebellious, right? 

Jasper Jordan  
9:01 pm  
sssshhhhh. #powercouple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Getting a little friendlier, aren't we? And that was just the first half of the second episode! Our next chapter will show us what goes down on the date with Echo, what Bellamy and Clarke have to say to each other after all this action, and who gets eliminated! Stay tuned...
> 
> **Note: we're assuming here that episodes are shown neither live nor after a long period of time. Maybe a few days after filming. Because reasons.**
> 
>  
> 
> I know what you're all thinking-- "FINALLY AN UPDATE! IT'S BEEN FOREVER!"  
> But do you know what I'M thinking? Because it's somewhere along the lines of, "I appreciate your support sososo much, but if you go out of your way to rush me writing this, I hope you burn in hell." 
> 
> Okay, maybe that "hell" bit is a little strong, but really guys. I have grad school applications and a senior year workload. Having people messaging me just to say, "UPDATE THE ONE" is stress I don't need. I love feedback, and I really don't mind people asking "When will you update?" at all! It's just the commands that get me a little riled. So just be patient, subscribe, and remember that good stuff takes a little extra time. 
> 
> (That's a lot of words to say, "I'm stressed and scared all the time, so please just be nice to me, or I'll kill your OTP as dramatically as I can possibly imagine.")
> 
> As always, I lurve you dearly and strive to bring you the best, highest quality Bellarke feels. Feel free to leave kudos, comment, follow me on Tumblr (as maryam0revna), or just leave a pizza outside the trashcan in which I live. All are appreciated.


	7. Love is...Dirty Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we see Bellamy's date with Echo. Will he see through her, or will she continue to charm him senseless? And how will Clarke feel about all of this?

Clarke Griffin  
9:15 am  
You have your first one-on-one today, right?

Bellamy Blake  
9:20 am  
Yep. 

Clarke Griffin  
9:23 am  
You nervous?

Bellamy Blake  
9:25 am  
No.

Clarke Griffin  
9:29 am  
You are! You’re all tense and monosyllabic. Aw, it’ll be okay.

Bellamy Blake  
9:32 am  
Shut up. Like YOU’VE been on a date recently.

Clarke Griffin  
9:35 am  
Except with you, less than 24 hrs ago. Highly disappointed you’ve already forgotten. 

Bellamy Blake  
9:37 am  
Not the same. I would’ve done that with you anyway.

Clarke Griffin  
9:40 am  
You’re a pal. Now go get ready. Don’t be nervous, and don’t wear that orange shirt you like so much. It washes you out. 

Bellamy Blake  
9:41 am  
Go fuck yourself, Griffin.

Clarke Griffin  
9:43 am  
Charming.

 

Clarke was pretty sure the worst thing about this one-on-one, beside the fact that her friend was obviously edgy about it, was having to deal with Echo, swanning around the house all smug and awful. 

Even Lexa, who had seemed fundamentally disinterested in actually competing with the other women, was annoyed by the other girl’s superior flouncing. “How against the rules would it be to put eyedrops in her water?” 

“Not just against the rules,” Clarke pointed out with a rueful laugh. “That’s actually illegal. Counts as attempted poisoning.” 

The brunette wrinkled her nose. “I actually have kind of a weird history with attempted poisoning. I guess I’ll pass. This time.” 

Clarke shook her head. “I think that's the weirdest thing anyone's ever said to me. What a life you must have lived.” 

Regardless of legality, the prospect of the eyedrops-in-water plan became more and more tempting as the morning wore on. According to Byrne’s briefing, the date wouldn’t actually take place until later in the afternoon, but that didn’t stop Echo from starting her flourishing ministrations as soon as possible. She had even gone so far as to pop her head into Clarke and Lexa’s room to ask if they had any hairspray.

For all her irritation, Clarke had leaned forward with every intention of retrieving her spare bottle from the bathroom. Before she could, Lexa replied with a stark, “No,” her eyes never leaving Echo’s. 

The other girl’s eyes slitted for a quick second, then glinted with something like understanding. 

With an internal groan, as if she couldn’t believe she was about to do this, Clarke flashed Echo a small smile. “Well, I do. Hold on a sec.” She tossed Echo the bottle from the doorway of the bathroom. “Just get it back to me when you’re done.” 

“Thanks,” Echo drawled, triumphant but, unless Clarke was much mistake, just a little confused.

“Why’d you do that?” Lexa asked as soon as Echo was gone, more curious than anything.

The real answer, “Because Bellamy likes her, and I truly want to give her the benefit of the doubt,” wasn’t really one she could say out loud. So she settled for, “I don’t get anything out of being rude to her.”

“It’s a power play, Clarke,” Lexa groaned. “You don’t need to feed her ego.” 

“We’ve known her for less than a week,” Clarke tried to be reasonable. “We don’t know enough about her to judge.” At Lexa’s deadpan glare, she added, “Besides, she seems to be the first frontrunner, and I don’t think it’ll do us any favors to be outwardly rude to her, no matter what we may think.” 

Lexa’s eyes swept over her in a way that was somehow both coolly appraising and lascivious. (Clarke might’ve had to take a deep breath to calm the warmth in her stomach. God, stop.) Eventually she said, “Quite the strategist, aren’t you?” 

She shrugged, unable to stifle the littlest of smiles. “Whatever you say.”

 

Unwilling or unable to sit around in the house’s overwhelming atmosphere of weirdness after Echo finally took off, Clarke pulled on her running clothes and took to the trails that surrounded the estate. She was only allowed on the semicircle that wrapped around the girl’s side of the house, but that was long enough to make for a relatively satisfying trek. 

After weeks and months of being on her feet at the hospital, the first few days’ break was much appreciated, but now she found herself getting twitchy. Unfortunately, relief just didn’t seem to be in the cards for her, as she was once again accosted by Monty and Jasper (or at least their disembodied arms darting out from their shed). 

“You guys, you can’t just k--”

“How long do you normally run for?” Monty demanded. 

After a beat of befuddled silence, Clarke replied, “Like thirty minutes? But it ends up being more like forty or forty-five since I walk for a while before and after. Why?”

“Because,” Jasper was practically wriggling with excitement as he stepped to the side and flung his arms behind him like a game show host. “We have this!”

Behind him sat the usual bank of monitors, the screens of which displayed dozens of angles of the girls’ side of the house, both inside and outside. 

 

“That’s creepy,” Clarke said slowly, “but I can see where it would be exciting for you?” 

Jasper dug a bony elbow into her ribs, but Monty just replied airily, “Oh, well, then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in a front-row seat to Bellamy and Echo’s date. That would be creepy.” 

She opened her mouth to reply, then slowly closed it, thinking. There was definitely some horrible, curious part of her that was dying to know how Echo acted around him, since it was obviously nothing like her usual behavior. And also the prospect of seeing Bellamy possibly flustered around a girl he liked was really too tempting to pass up. “Fine,” she conceded. “I would definitely like to see that, but just to see what Echo’s like around him.” 

As they pulled up a third chair for her and settled in, Monty asked, “Is she really that bad?”

“Like, bad enough to negate how super hot she is?” Jasper added. 

Clarke wobbled her head indecisively. “It’s subtle. Like, on the first night, she told a girl not to trip, totally out of the blue, and then that girl busted her ass.”

“That’s not Echo’s fault though, is it?” reasoned Jasper.

Clarke shrugged. “Couldn’t say. But she’s so standoffish all the time, but then so weird and almost calculating-sounding when she does talk... Lexa thinks she’s playing some kind of power game, but what would be the point of that? Anyway, I just get a bad feeling from her, that’s all. I’m still perfectly polite, and Bellamy ignored my warning.” 

Just as Monty was about to say something, Jasper pointed to one of the center monitors. “It’s starting!” He leaned forward and tapped a few keys, and the little quadrant that had been showing the most direct camera angle blossomed to fill the screen.

Bellamy and Echo were walking arm-in-arm toward a wide wooden building that was too elaborate to be an office building but too small to be a museum. Jasper fiddled with the sound until the speakers were loud enough for them to make out, “...llroom dance class.” 

Echo’s eyes sparkled as she turned a sweet smile on him. “What kind of ballroom? Like waltzing or...tango?” 

“You’ll just have to see,” he countered with that smarmy, lady-killing, nightclub smirk. (Ugh.) 

The lesson was, in fact, tango, and the couple wasted no time getting their hands on each other. Jasper whistled, Clarke rolled her eyes, and Monty just watched Clarke. 

“I’m pretty interested in seeing how she plays this,” Clarke murmured. “Stumbling baby deer or femme fatale? It could go either way.” 

She saw soon enough that the answer was: both. Echo and Bellamy were both surprisingly quick studies, both reasonably graceful and coordinated. They held eye contact for most of the time, and Clarke was surprised that something didn’t catch fire from those sparks. God, Clarke couldn’t decide if she was happy that Bellamy was having a good time or frustrated with Echo for making such a turnaround. 

That frustration was only made worse when, just as Echo leaned back into a dip, her supporting heel slipped on the floor, making Bellamy surge forward to catch her. Their faces ended up about three inches apart, and Echo peered up at him from under her lashes.

“Thanks,” she breathed, almost too softly for the mic to pick up. 

“No problem,” he pulled her up slowly. “You alright?” From the way he cocked an eyebrow at the question, it was obvious that he knew she was.

Clarke didn’t listen to the other girl’s reply as she let out a prolonged groan.

“You okay there, Tina Belcher?” Monty asked, looking far more amused than he had any right to.

She scoffed. “I just...Echo. She’s so...” 

“Sexy?” Jasper supplied.

“Calculating.”

Monty’s mouth twitched. “Why do you say that?”

Sighing, she gestured broadly to the monitor. “That slipping thing! That was totally manufactured. One hundred percent fake.” 

“So people don’t sometimes slip when they dance?” Jasper was unconvinced.

“No, it’s just,” she shook her head. “when you’re dipping, it’s almost always the leg you aren’t leaning on that slips, since your hips are at such a weird angle. And if it does, you can catch yourself pretty quickly. The weight-bearing leg has too much pressure on it to slip.”

“Maybe,” Monty suggested, “she just had bad form?”

Clarke shook her head again. “No, her form was fine. Both of theirs were.”

“How do you know?” asked Jasper, always the skeptic when it came to distrusting pretty girls.

“Years and years of cotillion, my friend. Then debs. Having a rich, overbearing mom means that I could ballroom dance circles around you suckers.” 

Jasper spluttered (“You don’t know that! Maybe I have hidden talents too!”), but Monty just grinned a little wider. “I’m sure you’re much better than she is.” 

Clarke frowned, not sure how to feel about that. It had the weird ring of double meaning, but she didn’t know how to translate it. She settled for cracking her knuckles and declaring, “I’m a better dancer than both of them put together.” Casting a glance back at the monitor, she became dimly aware that she couldn’t sit around watching one of her best friends eyefuck a girl for another second. “Anyway, I’ve probably been in here too long. I should take off, if I’m gonna look properly red and sweaty for someone that’s supposedly been running.” 

Shooting a quick goodbye over her shoulder, she darted out of the shed, ostensibly resuming her run, in case anyone was watching. 

After she was gone, Monty dissolved into quiet, body-shaking laughs as a confused Jasper looked on. 

Ten minutes later, Clarke made it back to the house, acceptably gross-looking. 

Lexa was perched in the big bay window of the lounge with a book. “Where’ve you been?” 

Clarke looked down at herself, then at Lexa. “Running?” 

The other girl nodded, eyes flitting out the window for a second. “Cool. After you shower, do you want to make some lunch? I put a bunch of grapes in the freezer earlier, and so they should be the perfect temperature to put in some white wine right about now.” 

Something about her tone made Clarke’s mind go to a dark place involving her, Lexa, that shower, and frozen grapes. She gave her head a little shake, as if to clear it, and said, “Yeah, sounds great. I’ll just be a minute.”

 

 

The second round of eliminations was that night, and it was just as underwhelming for Clarke as the first had been. She knew she was staying, she knew the insufferable Echo was staying-- what else was there? Therese from the group date was eliminated, which was kind of a shame because she was a sweet girl, but also not really, because she was just a little bit...dumb? (Clarke had once silently watched her eat a strawberry, leaves and all.)

After, they did the usual routine of drinking champagne and milling about for a half-hour or so. She didn’t speak to Bellamy, only mentally applauded him for seeming to seek out the girls that he hadn’t gone on dates with yet. He did, she noticed, speak to Echo. It was a quick exchange, and all she could see was the dark-haired girl’s conspiratorial smile. It made something in her stomach writhe a little. Then again, she thought, if Bellamy was shifting back into his slimy old college persona, maybe they deserved each other. 

But she hoped that wasn’t the case.

 

Clarke Griffin  
11:45 pm  
Nice moves today, Antonio Banderas. 

Bellamy Blake  
11:47 pm  
First off, racist. Just because we’re both brownish. Second, how do you know about that? Lastly, how do you always know when to text me?

Clarke Griffin  
11:54 pm  
1\. Shut up. 2. I will never reveal my sources. (But I can say with certainty that your form needs some work. Gotta get them arms up.) 3. It’s because I’m a psychic. Madame Clarke. Or else I just know your schedule.

Bellamy Blake  
11:59 pm  
You haven’t ballroom danced in years. Watching (awful) Dirty Dancing 197 times does not give you the right to criticize my arms.

Clarke Griffin  
12:03 am  
HEY. You know that is my third favorite movie. Just because you incorrectly assume they don’t stay together in the end doesn’t make it awful.

Bellamy Blake  
12:07 am  
Their lives are just too different, Clarke! There’s no way they stay together, and I want them to, and that kills it for me. You know that. We’re not having this argument again. Go to bed, Frances.

Clarke Griffin  
12:12 am  
You’re not my (elitist, judgemental, but played by adorable Jerry Orbach) dad! And you sure as hell aren’t Johnny Castle...

Bellamy Blake  
12:15 am  
Why do you want to hurt me? 

Clarke Griffin  
12:18 am  
You profaned the name of Dirty Dancing. Go to bed, Robbie.

Bellamy Blake  
12:20 am  
Oh my God. We’re not friends anymore. Friends don’t call friends Robbie. WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

 

 

the1_official: Were you guys sad to see Therese go tonight? And what about that dance class? Did Echo tango her way into your hearts, or just Bellamy’s?

 

midget-jones-diary: @the1_official Why did Therese have to go?? Was it bc she put her lifejacket on backwards at first? Bc that’s an honest mistake.

-RT’d by the1_official, gameofscones, and 14 others-

 

whatlikeitshard: @the1_official That dance class tho. That was hot af. Like...pls put your hands on me like that. Bellamy OR Echo tbh. #fanme

 

hairy.spice: @the1_official im not really feeling echo. idk why. she just rubs me the wrong way, i guess? 

 

hairy.spice: @the1_official like, who doesn’t bring hairspray on a reality show? she asked like 5 girls& it just seemed like she was rubbing her date in their faces. nice of that 1 girl to share tho.

 

green-machine: @the1_official Echo seems super fake around the other girls, just sayin’. We don’t see much, but that’s just the vibe I get.

-RT’d by hairy.spice, hermionedanger, and 10 others-

 

octagon_blake: i really never needed to see my brother look at a girl like that, ever.

 

raven-reyes: @octagon_blake like what?

 

jasman_j: @octagon_blake @raven-reyes LIKE SEX

 

green-machine: @jasman_j @octagon_blake @raven-reyes you’re easily swayed from #powercouple

 

jasman_j: @green-machine @octagon_blake @raven-reyes NEVER. im just callin it like i see it.

 

 

Octavia Blake  
9:45 pm  
Okay guys, got anything to report?

Jasper Jordan  
9:50 pm  
not really. this all happened like, 3 days ago, so we would’ve told you before.

Monty Green  
9:52 pm  
That’s not entirely true.

-Octavia Blake added Nathan Miller and Lincoln-

Octavia Blake  
9:57 pm  
Okay, now that everyone’s here, Monty’s gonna tell us what’s happening BTS!

Monty Green  
10:02 pm  
Basically, we let Clarke watch Bellamy and Echo’s date in the tech booth with us while it was happening. 

Raven Reyes  
10:05 pm  
Please tell me you took pictures of her face. She has such a terrible poker face, we’d know exactly how she felt.

Nathan Miller  
10:07 pm  
Wait, are we rooting for Clarke and Bellamy now? Because A. weird, and B. never gonna happen.

Octavia Blake  
10:10 pm  
We’ve already gone over this, Miller, you just weren’t here for it. Long story short: we’re rooting for it. 

Lincoln  
10:13 pm  
Octavia, I love you, but...

Octavia Blake  
10:15 pm  
If you love me, you won’t finish that sentence.

Monty Green  
10:20 pm  
ANYWAY, she made this horrible face when Echo fell, and she went on a little mini-rant about how slipping like that is basically impossible unless you do it on purpose. I can’t tell if she’s jealous or if she just really, really doesn’t like Echo. And she literally ran out of the tech shed after that.

Jasper Jordan  
10:24 pm  
how did i not notice any of that subtexty stuff??

Monty Green  
10:27 pm  
You were watching Echo. Anyway, it’s probably for the best. If you thought she was jealous, you would’ve gotten too excited and made it weird.

Jasper Jordan  
10:30 pm  
...fair point.

Nathan Miller  
10:32 pm  
So, say I’m humoring yall’s insanity. Are we just gonna wait and see if our two friends just improbably fall in love on a tv show where they’re doing romantic shit and pretending to be attracted to each other? 

Nathan Miller  
10:36 pm  
Okay, saying it like that, I can kinda see how it could happen, maybe. If this were a romcom starring Katherine Heigl and...someone that looks like Bellamy.

Raven Reyes  
10:40 pm  
That’s the idea. You’re welcome to come watch with us if you want. Sometimes we throw popcorn.

Nathan Miller  
10:42 pm  
Oh, deal. But only if you’re DVRing it so we can torture them when they get back.

Octavia Blake  
10:44 pm  
It’s like you don’t even know me. Of COURSE we’re recording it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy! Dirty Dancing jokes that were probably lost on a lot of people! Bellamy using all-caps! What a ride. (And can we talk about how OF COURSE Bellamy would want rich-girl Baby and blue-collar Johnny to end up together but be convinced that it would never work out? I have a lot a feels about parallels I make up in my head.) 
> 
> Sorry for the overdue chapter! Graduated from college, moved, took a short road trip, etc etc. Also, I needed to figure out where I wanted to go with a few plot threads, and I can't write if I don't know where I'm going! The good news is that I've got it alllll figured out now, and I know exactly how many degrees I'll be twisting your heartstrings at any given time. (Which will lead to faster updates!)
> 
> I'm not gonna be like, "Gimme some feedback and I'll write faster," because you can't move this mountain (and that's cheap), but it does warm my icy heart. And I'll try to be less terrible about responding to comments-- I read them, grin like a loon, sometimes read them to others, and then forget to reply! 
> 
> As always, shameless Tumblr plug [if you like weeping gentle but impassioned tears over well-made gifsets.](maryam0revna.tumblr.com) And if you haven't read my newish 50's/60's doo-wop-inspired AU, [do that!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3973771)


	8. Love is... A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to play a game, y'all.
> 
> Also, I forgot to add this at first, but thank you so much for everyone that voted for this story (and/or Superlatives!) in the Bellarke Fanfic Awards! It was a real pleasure just to be nominated, much less win against such fantastic competition. I'm so completely honored. You guys are the best.

The next two days passed in complete and utter boredom. Bellamy was off on another group date with some of the girls that hadn’t been included in the first one, then they’d all had a “rest day”, as if any of them actually needed it. Really, Clarke was pretty sure that it was just to give all the girls time to scuttle into the confession booth and gush about how great their dates had been before the next elimination. 

Of course, for all Clarke’s internal eye-rolling at the rest day, it wasn’t like she was just withering away without Bellamy’s company. The free time to swim and tan and talk to the other girls was pretty cool, and she didn’t miss him or anything. (Well, they did exchange a few quick texts in the morning, and then again in the evenings, but nothing major. He was still a little salty about the Robbie comment.)

At Byrne’s instruction, Clarke and the other girls from the first group date made another appearance in the confession booth along with the others. She spent the requisite five minutes effusing blandly about how much she had enjoyed going out on the lake and how she was disappointed that they hadn’t seen one another again since, none of which was technically a lie. While she wouldn’t cop to actually missing him, she could admit to herself that there were times when she wished it was him sitting around drinking with her instead of Mary Annelle, the dog breeder from West Virginia. There was really only so much she could hear about border collies before she started thinking wistfully of her more mentally stimulating conversations with Bellamy (even if they sometimes did center around whether or not Kuzco really addressed the socioeconomic disparities in The Emperor’s New Groove). 

Fortunately, Clarke didn't have to wait long for the return of Bellamy's begrudgingly enjoyable presence. When Byrne gave them the morning overview of the day's activities, she almost looked (dare Clarke say it?) a little excited. 

"Ladies," Byrne of Tarth addressed them grandly, "today is your first challenge." She paused to let the girls ooh and ahh, looking over them with a broad smile. "You will all be participating. There's nothing you can do to prepare ahead of time, so I recommend you simply get dressed and wait for your letter to arrive."

Oh, excellent. Another morning of everyone fluttering around, talking about hairstyles and Bellamy. Clarke was no stranger to fluttering or collaborative hairstyle decisions, but she had been spoiled by Raven's almost impossibly low-maintenance presence. Not to mention the fact that Raven had only ever talked about Bellamy in a romantic context once, years before. 

(Both of them had only recently broken up with Finn. Raven had burst into Clarke's dorm room, hopped onto her bed, and declared, "I fucked Octavia's brother."

At Clarke's blank look, she had shaken her head and continued, "It was good, but it didn't help."

Clarke had only nodded, pulled the emergency pint of Haagen-Dazs out of her tiny freezer, and opened Netflix. Later, she wondered why the thought of Raven and Bellamy together was still twitching at the back of her mind. Probably because Raven deserved better, no matter how good the sex might have been. That was definitely it.)

 

The rest of the morning only reinforced Clarke’s already solid appreciation of Lexa as a roommate, but it also planted the first seed of misgiving. Raven might have been low-maintenance, but Lexa was practically invisible. The girl was normally on the quiet side-- she hadn’t even told Clarke the details of her group date when she asked-- but today was another level. Lexa somehow always managed to be in the bathroom when Clarke was in the bedroom and vice versa. 

Finally, Clarke managed to catch her while she was curling her hair. “You’re being awfully quiet. Nervous?” The prospect of Lexa being nervous about anything was almost laughable, but who could say? 

The brunette looked like she would rather be anywhere but in the same room as Clarke, but (just as her wily roommate had planned) she couldn’t very well leave her hair half-curled. So she just scoffed and said, “Hardly. Just putting on my game face.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Clarke repeated, “Your game face? You weren’t even this serious at eliminations.”

“This is a competition,” Lexa’s eyes never strayed from the mirror. “Everything leading up to this has just been dancing around the competitive aspect, and now we’re finally looking it in the eye.” At last, her gaze shifted to the girl next to her. “I came here to have fun, but that doesn’t mean I came to lose.” 

Clarke held her hands up placatingly. “Hey, I get it. I do. But you don’t have to stress over it. I’m sure you’ll be great.” She wasn’t just saying that, like she might’ve for anyone else. There was something about the other girl that made her seem like a conqueror-- like nothing could stand between her and what she wanted. Cautiously, Clarke made a mental note to include herself as one of those things, no matter how much Lexa seemed to like her. 

Shaking her head ruefully, Lexa pursed her lips and said, “‘Stress’ is something weak people say to justify their inability to function. I’m fine.” A beat later, she added, “Shouldn’t you do something with your hair? We’re leaving in less than an hour.”

Jesus. It was the most unforgiving speech Clarke had heard from the girl. Lexa didn’t believe in stress? (A thousand medical statistics about the reality of stress streamed through her brain, but she held them in.) And what the hell did she mean by, “do something with your hair”? It had just the same almost undetectable whiff of condescension about it, and for a second, Clarke could almost see the lines of Echo’s face superimposed on Lexa’s. She was glad that bathrooms were camera- and microphone-free. One of the cameras in the bedroom could probably see their reflections, but the mic wouldn’t pick up what they were saying. As taken aback as she was, she didn’t want Lexa’s (possibly anxiety-induced) bitchiness to count against her in the court of public opinion. 

Not that she really saw Lexa ending up with Bellamy, of course. She just didn’t seem right for him. But Clarke enjoyed having her around, so maybe her intentions weren’t entirely noble.

All that aside, Lexa was right in pointing out that Clarke hadn’t really done anything with her hair. Most of the hairstyles in her repertoire were in the same vein as her cute-and-comfortable fashion philosophy: mostly stuff she found on Pinterest under “easiest updos” that would keep her hair out of her face all day. And since it was too late to hit up Monroe for some assistance, she settled for twisting it all up in a vaguely ballerina-like bun and hitting it with some anti-frizz spray that made it look more polished than it actually was. Tiny blonde strands escaped the bun, falling in front of her ears and at the nape of her neck. She reached for her bobby pins but decided against them; the effect was casual, not-trying-too-hard approachable. Bland. 

Perfect.

(She ignored Lexa’s sidelong glance as she left the bathroom to slip on her shoes and go downstairs in search of something resembling brunch.) 

 

 

Clarke wasn’t sure what she had expected from this whole “challenge” thing-- probably something embarrassing and vaguely degrading, if past seasons were any indication. She did not expect their limos to drive for all of two minutes and unload them on the other side of the house. So far, they had only been there for introductions and eliminations, which, judging by Harper’s tapping nails and Not-Jenny’s jiggling leg, only seemed to amp up everyone’s nerves.

Their letter had said something along the lines of “getting to know one another in depth” and “seeing whose connection could stand up to the test”. All the girls had ignored the obnoxious slant rhyme in favor of recounting their test-taking abilities from high school and college.

“I was a terrible test-taker,” one girl lamented. (Clarke was pretty sure it was Bree, the other blonde from their group date.) “Just froze up every time. Don’t even get me started on my SAT scores.”

No one got her started. Rather, they joined in, either bemoaning their poor memorization skills or cheerfully remarking on their past academic success.

“I did get the highest standardized test scores at my school...” Echo trailed off with an elaborately casual shrug.

Lexa, in a rare display of loquaciousness, put in, “I have a fantastic memory.” Then, as if that warranted no further explanation, she moved on. “Clarke, what about you?” 

Putting on a nonthreatening smile, she gave a self-deprecating little chuckle. “Well, I did get through med school somehow. But that might have used up a lifetime of memorization skills.” Entirely true. 

That got a few appreciative little laughs, and Clarke was content to once again fade into the background. And she remained firmly in the background until it came time to pile out of the cars, and she found herself shuffled toward the front. A set hand guided them into the house, herding them into one of the front rooms, where they settled onto the many couches and chairs. Somehow Echo and Lexa found themselves in chairs that faced one another across the wide rug, and their eye contact was either assessing, threatening, or almost comically avoided.

They weren’t left to their own devices for more than a minute or two-- soon enough, they were joined by the show’s host, Cage, with whom they’d had almost no interaction at this point. From what Clarke remembered of past seasons, his job mostly consisted of asking Bellamy probing questions about which girl he liked, which inevitably resulted in a few vague comments and coy smiles. Of course, knowing Bellamy, his responses were probably more along the lines of smirks and sass. (Unless he was doing that sincerely charming thing he’d done on the first night, which still unsettled Clarke in ways she couldn’t and would not try to quantify.)

As Cage took center stage, the girls’ heads all swiveled to face him, cameras turning to face them. Apparently, whatever he was about to say was meant to elicit a significant reaction. Clarke readied her facial muscles.

“Ladies,” Cage began, smiling and rubbing his hands together in a way that Clarke was pretty sure was mandatory for reality show announcers, “as you know, we’re gonna play a little game today!” _Thank you, Jigsaw._ “Maybe I’m dating myself here, but have any of you heard of The Newlywed Game?” 

Cage couldn’t have been more than a few years older than the oldest of the contestants, and Clarke was pretty sure she wanted to punch his face. She couldn’t decide if she was suddenly edgy or if he was just ridiculous. Probably the latter, as she was a cold, distant mountain, that’s how calm she was. Totally and completely calm and not feeling inexplicably weird about playing the fucking Newlywed Game with Bellamy. 

“In case you haven’t,” Cage went on, “the premise is this: a couple is asked questions about each other, one at a time, with one partner writing down their answer and the other predicting what that answer will be. For example, if the question is, ‘What is Jane’s favorite candy?’, Jane would write down ‘chocolate’, and Joe would write down what he thought Jane would say. If he guessed, ‘chocolate’, the answer is correct. See what I mean?”

The girls nodded excitedly. Clarke gracefully imitated one of those bobbing dogs people use to put on their dashboards.

Their helpful host looked delighted at their comprehension, then held up a finger with an eyebrow waggle that said _but wait, there’s more!_ “But wait,” he smarmed, “there’s more! There’s a catch. There’s no way poor Bellamy could remember so many details about so many beautiful women! So instead of asking you things that you ought to know, we’ll be asking you to guess, just based on what you know of each other so far! Whichever pair gets the most correct answers total will be sent on our second one-on-one date!” 

All around her, the girls chirped and giggled, and Clarke joined in robotically. Something about that little spiel made her uneasy. Maybe it was the prospect of a second one-on-one, undercut by her memory of her own unjustifiable disgust at the first one. Probably it was the fact that Cage seemed to end all of his sentences with exclamation points. _Reel it in, Cage._

Host With the Most made a few closing remarks before handing the girls off to set techs that checked their mics and Byrne, who went into more explicit details that a tv audience wouldn’t care about. It turned out, each of the fifteen remaining girls would get ten questions-- five that Bellamy would guess about them, five that they would guess about him. They all counted toward the final score. In the event of a tie, the girl who had answered the most questions about him correctly would be the winner. 

As far as Clarke was concerned, this would be a piece of cake. She and Bellamy had known one another for ages, but they hadn’t actually been friends for a few years, much less as good of friends as they were now. So, by her estimation, they could probably play honestly and end up somewhere in the middle, score-wise. They didn’t know everything about one another.

 

 

Apparently, asking a hundred and fifty questions took a long fucking time. Granted, Clarke was number thirteen of fifteen, but seriously. She guessed that for the show itself, the producers would probably cut down each round to its funniest moments, playing some kind of silly whomp-whomp music when guesses were disastrously wrong. And it wasn’t that Clarke minded waiting-- it wasn’t like she was chomping at the bit to play this dumb game-- but time to wait was really just time to overthink. All of the girls were keeping to themselves, probably replaying every conversation they’d had with Bellamy and mining it for details. Meanwhile, Clarke couldn’t stop her brain from churning over all the variables: what kind of questions would they ask? Would they be silly, superficial things, or were they gonna get deep? What if it was something embarrassing, like, “What’s Clarke’s favorite sex position?” Because first off, she was pretty sure her mom was watching this show, and more importantly, she could happily live the rest of her life without hearing what Bellamy thought the answer to that question was. 

(If that was a question and he said ‘missionary’, she would beat him to death with a tire iron.) 

 

After approximately two hours, during which time Clarke had become convinced that she had been born in this dull but tasteful sitting room and would probably die in this dull but tasteful sitting room, a tech came and tapped her shoulder. 

“You’re up.” The tech nodded at her without really making eye contact, then led her to a smaller, even more bland parlor. It contained only Cage, Bellamy, an empty chair, some writing supplies, and a little lighting setup. Also, by her count, thirty-five cameras.

Oh great. Even better. Could she go back to the sitting room, please? It was her home now. 

Taking a deep breath, Clarke walked in, did the “I only kinda know you, but we’re in a pressured situation” hug with Bellamy, smiled, and slid into her chair. 

“You ready for this?” he asked with a little grin that would’ve meant trouble if his eyes hadn’t looked quite so tired around the eyes. 

“Oh, definitely. You exhausted yet?” she cocked her head knowingly. He looked like he had in the early bonding stages of their friendship. He had been finishing law school, she was starting medical school, and his apartment was the only one of theirs that was ever quiet, so they ended up studying there together more often than not. Aside from the occasional mutual quizzing, it was dead silent, and they always ended up slumped against the back of the couch, hollow-eyed and mumbling about horrible professors.

“Not at all,” he assured her. Cage probably bought it, but to Clarke, it was almost pathetically unconvincing. 

“Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” prompted Cage the Bland (but Enthusiastic). “Clarke, we’ll do your five questions first.” When she and Bellamy had both gathered up their writing materials and uncapped their markers, he continued. “Clarke, what do you think is Bellamy’s favorite color?”

Oh, softball. She pretty much couldn’t get this wrong without looking like an asshole, right? She suppressed a grimace at the thought of his hideous favorite shirt, then flipped her card to reveal her answer. Cage congratulated her when Bellamy flipped his to reveal a second “orange”.

“Good start!” he cheered. “And may I say, you have remarkably neat handwriting for a doctor! I’m sure my pharmacist wishes you wrote my prescriptions!” Insert knowing smile, as if “doctors have bad handwriting” was a private joke just between the two of them and not a terrible cliche. 

Clarke ignored the audible overuse of exclamation points and thanked him. 

The second question asked if she thought Bellamy was an only child or had siblings. When their cards both proclaimed “siblings”, Cage asked, “How did you know?”

 

Oh, God. Had Bellamy ever officially mentioned Octavia to her? Torn between playing it safe and being mischievous, she settled for shrugging and saying, “He just seems like a brother. An older brother, if I had to guess.” She couldn’t resist kicking his foot under the table a little at that. If there was one trait that defined Bellamy as a human being, it was “overbearing big brother”, and everyone knew it. 

Bellamy grinned, nodding, and Cage gave a prepackaged laugh. They moved on. 

Clarke threw the next question about what pizza toppings Bellamy liked. She knew good and damned well that he liked pepperoni and pineapple ever since he had stolen a piece of hers back in her junior year, and they had fought over the last piece of more shared pizzas than she could count since then. But with no way to justify that knowledge, she just wrote "pepperoni" and shrugged helplessly when his card reflected what she already knew. When were the hard questions going to start? 

For the fourth question, Cage asked her to guess the length of Bellamy's longest relationship, and she didn't really know how to get it wrong without screwing things up. She remembered him bringing her a bottle of tequila after the shit avalanche that was Finn Collins--probably the first nice thing he'd ever done for her own his own-- then helping her drink it while swapping relationship horror stories. For some reason, she had a very clear memory of him laughing, holding up a hand (his other gripping her shoulder), and saying, "You think that's bad? My longest relationship lasted a year. One year. My junior year." At her confused look, he clarified, "Of high school." She had cackled like a Disney villain and poured them another shot. They had both been miserable in the morning, but it had been a good night. Almost certainly the start of their unspoken "accept the good times" policy. 

So, not wanting to go low and make him seem emotionally stunted or go high and make his real answer disappointing by comparison, she wrote "one year". And hey, maybe she was wrong! She had been pretty drunk, and it had been awhile so maybe--

No such luck. Bellamy flipped his card over, and they matched again, much to her chagrin. They were definitely doing too well. She would need the throw the last one. 

But luck was clearly not on her side today. The last question was obviously meant to be the one where Shit Gets Deep, so Cage's voice was grave when he asked, "Clarke, on a scale of one to ten, how uncomfortable do you think Bellamy would be dating a woman who makes more money than he does?"

Okay, first off, the fact that that was even a question made Clarke want to call upon the divine powers of Mary Wollstonecraft, Maya Angelou, and Susan B. motherfucking Anthony, so that they might unleash a firestorm of feminism on this unclean world. _Every day we stray further and further from our Lord and Savior, Gloria Steinem,_ she thought wearily. _Somewhere out there, I can feel Beyonce weeping._

Rather than give voice to those thoughts, however, she promptly wrote down her answer. She knew their answers would match, but it was worth it. Besides, if either of them answered differently, there would certainly be more than one ass-kicking awaiting them back home. One each from PhD-student Octavia, internationally-recognized genius Raven, terrifying feminist Lincoln, and ride-or-die equal rights proponent Miller. Plus probably some sort of tag team ring match from Monty and Jasper, whose scrawniness was only outmatched by their single-minded enthusiasm for progressive values. 

When Cage prompted them to show their answers, Clarke watched in one of the tiny camera screens as she and Bellamy simultaneously flipped their cards, revealing two giant 0’s and their stony, unamused faces. 

For a beat, Cage was speechless, but he quickly filled the silence with laughter that was the abstract embodiment of all those exclamation points. “Well,” he chuckled, “that might not have been one of the answer choices, but you two certainly seem like you’re on the same page!” 

Clarke and Bellamy exchanged grim but satisfied smiles. She wasn’t sure how that would read to the audience, but for the moment, she didn’t care. They had always been good at putting up a unified front in the face of stupidity, and today would be no different. Not for the first time since she’d come on the show, Clarke felt a rush some something warm for Bellamy-- approval, appreciation, or affection. Maybe all at once. 

Cage wasted no time moving on from their moment of solidarity (though Clarke saw two cameramen swap little smiles that really worried her), and he announced that it was Bellamy’s turn to answer questions. 

Their first four questions were the same, which Clarke found a little unfair. Or, she would’ve, if she were actually invested in this game from a non-strategic standpoint, which she certainly wasn’t. Following her lead, he answered the first two correctly, revealing her favorite color to be blue and “guessing” her lack of siblings. 

Just like the first time, Cage asked, “What made you guess that?” 

Bellamy gave her a smug, sidelong little glance. “You can always tell when someone’s an only child. All that undivided attention stays with them for life.” 

Clarke didn’t have it in her to resist elbowing him in the ribs. “Excuse me! I’ll have you know that I was given a perfectly healthy amount of attention.” 

His returning snort said _Sure, princess_ , even if his mouth didn’t.

Like Clarke, Bellamy purposely got the pizza question wrong, guessing “pineapple”, the schmuck. Unfortunately, Clarke followed his earlier example by answering honestly. 

“You like the exact same objectively strange topping combination?” Cage asked, incredulous. 

Oh, fuck. Clarke hadn’t even thought of what it would look like if they had the same answer, and from the brief look of surprise on Bellamy’s face, he hadn’t either. Best case scenario, they looked improbably compatible. Worst case, she looked desperate for copying his answer. Actually, scratch that. Their “compatibility” would definitely be the worse case of the two, probably.

When the question about Clarke’s longest relationship came up, Bellamy ducked his head, ostensibly to write his answer but also to give her a questioning glance, asking permission to write down what he knew was the correct answer. While she didn’t think it was a good idea to get another question right, she nodded subtly enough that it was really more of a dramatic blink. She wouldn’t let him think she was ashamed of her choices.

Cage gave them a loudly generic congratulations when they both held up cards that read some variation of “1.5 years”. Clarke knew they really needed to screw up this last question, but she had also accepted the possibility that it might be like last time: impossible to answer incorrectly without one of them giving a false impression of the other.

She almost cheered when Cage asked, in his serious voice, “Bellamy, do you think Clarke believes in the existence of soulmates?” There was no way he knew the answer to that, and the odds of him guessing correctly were so slim it was almost laughable.

A few seconds later, she hoped the blood didn’t actually drain from her face when they held up two cards, each marked with a stark “No.” 

Cocking his head, Cage pursed his lips in thought. “I’ve gotta say, I don’t think anyone was expecting that. Bellamy, why do you say no?” Honestly, Clarke was actually pretty interested in hearing the likely questionable logic behind his answer. 

All he said was, “Soulmates are a cop-out, and Clarke doesn’t strike me as lazy,” and sat back in his chair looking oddly satisfied with himself. _Well...shit._

The Host with the Most (False Enthusiasm) crossed his arms and looked even more like a puzzled cartoon character than before. “You know, I can’t say I know just what you mean by that. Clarke, can you shed some light on that answer? Or maybe you have a different reasoning. It’s my understanding that most women believe in soulmates to some degree.”

She was going to make Jasper and Monty tell her what room of the house he was sleeping in, then set it on fire like Bertha Mason did to Mr. Rochester. Except she would succeed.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped thinking death thoughts about Cage and quizzical thoughts about Bellamy’s apparent psychic abilities. “I think I know what he means. Personally, I’ve always seen soulmates as a kind of cop-out too. The idea that there’s someone out there that’s perfect for you in every way really ignores the fact that even the best relationship takes hard work and compromise.” 

She drew in another breath and tried not to think of Finn and his utter conviction that she was his soulmate as she went on. “It’s easy to give up on a relationship when you think that, if you have to work hard, the person must not be your ‘soulmate’. That the ideal relationship should be easy. So yeah,” she shrugged, “I guess in a way, it does give you an excuse to be emotionally lazy under the guise of being a romantic.” She didn’t add that some people used it as a way to justify cheating on their beautiful, brilliant long-term girlfriend with someone they’ve just met. All the same, Clarke hoped that, if they aired this little diatribe, Raven would know that she was talking to her. What she still didn’t know what how in the hell Bellamy had known what her answer would be, and she wasn’t entirely keen on finding out.

Cage didn’t respond immediately, only narrowed his eyes in thought. Suddenly feeling awkward in the aftermath of her (probably controversial and inappropriate for a dating show) spiel, Clarke peeked at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. He was already looking at her, and he looked...proud. She knew cool speeches were really his thing more than hers, so seeing approval on his face calmed her nerves more than she would’ve anticipated. 

Finally, Cage said, “I think I see your point,” with potentially the most sincere expression Clarke had seen on him all day. “And once again, the two of you seem to be on the same page. Clarke, you might just be the woman to beat this season.” 

With a nervous laugh, she thanked him as convincingly as she could and avoided eye contact with Bellamy. As they all said their goodbyes, she quickly removed her ring and slipped it back on. Nothing more than a nervous gesture to anyone else’s eyes, Clarke knew Bellamy would read it as the mildly panicked, “It’s getting too weird,” that it was. Immediately, his warm hand dropped to the middle of her back, just below her shoulder blades, as he led her to the door, and she felt a little of her tension drain away. Now she really needed to go somewhere and just...think for a minute. Giving him the quickest and most uncomfortable nod ever, she let herself out of the room and into the hallway, which somehow seemed ten degrees cooler.

A set hand steered her back to a waiting limo, and she sank down into the leather seats almost bonelessly. Clarke felt confused and unexpectedly drained. What the hell was that? Seriously, what was that? Exactly how long had she been fooling herself into thinking that she and Bellamy weren’t kind of best friends? The thought seemed weird even now, but what else was there? She had gone into the game not expecting them to know too many real facts about each other, but they had known everything, even the deep stuff. When had she acquired all of that information, all of those intimate little details of his life? At what point had he become someone she knew better than almost anyone else? 

And more confusingly, when had he picked up so much about her? Clarke didn’t shy away from her own feelings, but Bellamy certainly wasn’t the one she went to with heartfelt confessions. Or wasn’t he? She knew herself well enough to know that she was pretty much an open book when she got drunk or sad or sleepy-- really, anytime she was vulnerable-- and looking back, she had spent way more time being vulnerable around Bellamy than she had ever realized. And he had been listening. Really listening. How else would he have known a stupid little detail like her semi-irrational hatred for the concept of soulmates? Who else knew that? Probably Raven, since she had been directly involved the Finn stuff, but Octavia probably didn’t. Monty probably didn’t. Her mother definitely didn’t. Somehow, Bellamy had slipped into this almost untouched sphere of emotional closeness, and Clarke had never felt it, never registered the change. 

The limo deposited her back at the house, where she made her way up to her room without speaking to anyone. When she got there, Lexa looked like she was taking a nap, but she sat up when Clarke shut the door. 

“How’d you d--” She was cut off by the click of the bathroom door, 

Normally, Clarke would have filled the tub and _then_ gotten in, but everything was already sideways, so what was one more thing? She turned on the water, stripped, and sat in the giant tub as it filled up around her, warm water splashing against her toes. What did she do with all of this new information, and why did it feel like she had eaten a beehive? Distantly, she noted that that would’ve been both unsafe and ecologically harmful. 

When the water reached her chin and the overflow drain kicked in, noisily sucking out the extra water, Lexa rapped on the door. “Clarke? You okay in there?”

Uh, no?? Strange alchemical substitutions were happening in her brain, and though she could see right where they were headed, she was powerless to stop it. Images of Bellamy, the heat of his hand against her back, the sound of his voice saying, “Soulmates are a cop-out,” and a million other tiny moments from almost a decade of friendship started to fit together like Tetris pieces and snapped into place. For a breathless moment, Clarke was completely still.

Then she let her head fall back against the tile wall with a hollow _thunk_. 

“Seriously, are you alright?” Lexa called, apparently still standing at the door.

Lexa. What about Lexa? Clarke liked her, that was for sure, and under any other circumstances, she would’ve been more than happy to take that liking further. But what was “like” compared to what was happening in her head and her gut right now? “Like” was impossibly insignificant against this towering _thing_ built over the course of so much time, built so naturally that Clarke hadn’t seen it until it was blocking out the sun 

“I’m fine,” she called back, trying not to sound like she was drowning in her bathwater, even though she felt like she might be. Quietly, so as not to trigger the microphones, she added, “I think I’m just really, really into Bellamy.” 

Lexa just laughed her soft, dark laugh from the other side of the door. “Well, you’re in the right place for it.” 

Was she? Feeling all at once like she was sinking underwater, Clarke realized she might be in exactly the wrong place, at exactly the wrong time.

 

 

Just before the girls all came back to Bellamy’s side of the house for the competition results, Monty and Jasper snuck out of their tech shed to “deal with a sound issue”. Naturally, they dragged him into an empty, un-mic’d room and asked the question that had been on Clarke’s mind ever since she had left: “What the hell was that today?”

Shaking his head, Bellamy eyed them warily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But didn’t he? He wanted to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but it kind of had.

Monty rolled his eyes impatiently. “With Clarke, man. How did you know all that stuff? That was crazy.”

“Plus,” Jasper added, “did you guys mean to do so well? You guys did--” 

“I know,” Bellamy cut him off. “It wasn’t intentional. But I seriously don’t know what you mean. Clarke and I have been friends for a long time. We know stuff about each other.” 

“You know everything about each other!” Jasper exploded. “And you’re kidding yourself if you think it’s anything less than that.” 

As Bellamy took a second to think that over and decide if he agreed or not, Monty asked abruptly, “Do you still like her?”

Now he was definitely confused. “Of course I like her. Like I said, friends for basically ever, and she’s here doing this for me, so she’s pretty much my favorite person right now. Why would ask me that?” 

Deadpan, Monty replied, “I wasn’t asking if you liked her as a person.” 

Helpfully, Jasper clarified. “He means, are you still pathetically in love with her like you were when she was in medical school?” 

“And had no time to notice your smitten face.” 

“And wouldn’t have known what to do if she had.”  


“Which didn’t matter because you never made a mo--”

“Enough,” Bellamy grimaced. “Enough, okay? I remember. It’s not like that with her, though.” _Not anymore._

Monty looked unconvinced but stayed quiet a minute. Jasper, on the other hand, had no such restraint. “That’s bullshit, man! You didn’t just flip a switch and turn it off. And if you saw what we saw on the other end of those cameras, you wouldn’t be deluding yourself into thinking you did.”

Bellamy frowned. “You haven’t seen anything. And if you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a good thing going with more than one girl here, especially Echo. I’m not saying she’s ‘the one’, but I do know we’re both interested, which is more than I can say for Clarke and me.” 

Holding up his index fingers, Monty pursed his lips. “Consider this. You care about Clarke a little, right?” 

“Don’t be a dick. You know I care about her more than a little.” 

“Okay, okay. So, do you not think she’s pretty?”

That got a snort out of him. “Are you out of your damn mind?” He could say more, like how Clarke was easily in the top ten most beautiful women he had ever seen. Probably the top five, really. Maybe she was the top. But he didn’t like where this was going, and he wasn’t about to go there unless he absolutely had to.

“Okay,” Monty concluded reasonably, “so what’s the difference between her and any other girl on this show? You have history, but it’s mostly good history. What’s to stop you from making it happen now when you couldn’t then?” 

Bellamy had nothing to say to that. He knew this logic was just going to lead him into the same miserable, unrequited place he’d been in years ago, but he couldn’t help letting his mind wander. What was stopping him?

“The fact that she’s not into it now any more than she was then?” It was more statement than question, but there was a little uncertainty there too.

Monty and Jasper looked at each other and shook their heads, as if to say, _clueless_. “If the way she reacted to watching your date with Echo was any indication, she might just be more into it than she realizes,” Monty grinned

What? “What do you mean, the way she reacted?” A beat. “Wait, you two let her watch my date?”

“Details,” Jasper dismissed the question. “The point is, she didn’t say it in so many words, but she didn’t like it.”

Bellamy shook his head again. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. I appreciate you having my back, sort of, but Clarke and I are just friends. She came here because I asked her to, not because she secretly wants to date me. And that’s okay. Thanks though.” And with that, he clapped them both on the shoulder and headed back down the hall. 

It would’ve been nice to believe them. Really. A naive, hopeful part of him wanted to believe them. But he and Clarke had never been like that, and as far as he could tell, nothing had changed. And he was okay with that, just like he always had been.

It was a really, really nice thought though.

 

 

A few hours later, all the girls were once again rounded up, now dressed in smart cocktail dresses, to be shuttled over to the other side of the house. Clarke was in a car with her usual group, Lexa, Harper, Maya, and Monroe, all of whom were comparing their scores from earlier. 

Clarke eavesdropped but didn’t contribute. Lexa’s total score was three out of ten. Harper and Monroe’s were four. And Maya had surprised them all with her score of six. When they asked Clarke how she did, she had replied honestly: “I really don’t remember. I was kind of flustered, and I didn’t think to total it up at the end.” 

The other girls teased her gently for being “flustered”, though the look Lexa gave her said that she suspected Clarke knew but was withholding. Probably, Lexa thought she had done poorly and didn’t want to admit it.

Once they were all gathered in the room usually reserved for eliminations, Cage instructed them to sit and directed their attention to a huge television that had been affixed to one wall. Bellamy slipped in beside him just as the lights went down.

As the screen came to life, the girls watched the highlight reel of the day’s competition. As Clarke had suspected, it was largely just individual questions and answers all cut together, goofy trombone music heralding the most egregiously wrong answers, both on the girls’ part and Bellamy’s. Toward the end, it began showing the correct answers, soft violin highlighting the the contestants’ sweet smiles when their cards matched with his. The last few scenes were still shots: three of Clarke and Bellamy. One was of them looking down at their cards, the second of their matching zeroes and glares. The third showed them staring straight at each other, looking victorious and terrible. The violin cut off on one powerful stroke, and the video was over. The lights came back up.

Cage clapped his hands together once. “As we’ve all seen, today’s competition was both fun and fierce. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer-- it’s time to reveal the scores!” Withdrawing a thick card from inside his jacket, Cage began listing off names along with their scores, obviously in ascending order. He began with “Mary Annelle: two,” and Clarke resisted the urge to squirm as she waited for her name. 

And wait she did. She had hoped against hope that she would be somewhere on the first half of the list, or maybe towards the middle, just to be safe, but seven names had passed. None of them were hers. She worried the hem of her dress with a thumbnail, then stilled and returned her hand to her lap. The rose-colored tulip dress made her feel kind of like a fairy princess, and she wasn’t going to ruin the stitching with her anxiety.

Seven names passed, then ten, then twelve, then fourteen. 

Finally, just when Clarke was convinced that there must have been some kind of mistake, that she’d been left off the list somehow, Cage concluded grandly, “And that means our winner, with a high score of eight, is...Clarke!” 

Ohgodohgod. No. There was no way. Hadn’t they purposely missed a few questions? Apparently not enough, she realized. Shit. 

She hoped her face was clear when she looked over to where Bellamy sat next to Cage and made a show of smiling and seeming pleased. It was possible that her nostrils were flaring and the muscle in her jaw was clenching and unclenching, but she was fairly sure she had it under control. This was not a big deal. Bellamy looked fine with it, though his poker face might’ve been better than hers was. _Who knew with lawyers_ , she thought wildly. 

Deep breath. This was not a big deal. All she had to do was go on what was almost certainly going to be an extremely romantic date with one of her best friends-- one she had discovered only hours before that she had a kind of massive crush on-- and pretend to like it. Oh Jesus, she probably would like it. Except that she would know Bellamy was faking, and who was she kidding, this was a huge deal, and everything was horrible.

 

Clarke Griffin  
9:39 pm  
I am so sorry. I have no idea how that happened. How did everyone else do so badly???

Bellamy Blake  
9:41 pm  
Calm down, it’s fine. Everyone else didn’t do badly, we just did super well. Strangers aren’t SUPPOSED to be able to guess a bunch of stuff about each other.

Clarke Griffin  
9:43 pm  
Shit. Do you think we blew it. Again, seriously, so sorry.

Bellamy Blake  
9:45 pm  
Would you take a fucking breath? It’s fine. It’s not like I don’t like hanging out with you. It might get a little iffy, but just do the SOS thing again, and we can back off. Why’d you do that, by the way?

Clarke Griffin  
9:47 pm  
I dunno, it just started to feel weird. How’d you know all that shit about me anyway? 

Bellamy Blake  
9:47 pm  
We’ve known each other for almost ten years. Same way you knew all that shit about me. 

Clarke Griffin  
9:48 pm  
Okay, fair enough. You’re seriously okay with this whole thing? Because if you’re not, I’m pretty sure I can just pretend to be sick. 

Bellamy Blake  
9:49 pm  
Yes. I am fine. Do not pretend to be sick. You are crazy. Please get some sleep so you will be less crazy tomorrow. Thanks.

 

the1_official: Is everyone happy about Clarke’s win?? We’ve heard rumors of a little hashtag going around... #powercouple? 

brosephstallin: @the1_official started out not liking clarke so much, but u can’t deny that chemistry. that was some serious shit okay 

-RT’d by iamfroot, agent-smarter, and 13 others-

drwho_dryoouuu: @the1_official How did they do that though? Like, how did he know she didn’t believe in soulmates? That was insane. #powercouple

-RT’d by the1_official, pearwithme, and 6 others-

accio-breadsticks: @the1_official funny they don’t believe in soulmates when they legit might be soulmates? #powercouple

-RT’d by the1_official, octagon_blake, and 23 others-

deans_bowlegs: @the1_official Clarke makes weird faces tho. Not a fan. U gotta be pretty to win.

-RT’d by inyourbass, rat-terrier12, and 3 others-

sillie-piper: @the1_official whatever yall can fuckin fight me, clarke has more chemistry w lexa than w bellamy. can we get a clarke/lexa spinoff? thnx.

-RT’d by peen_arrow, ubeendazed, and 8 others-

jasman_j: @green-machine WE DID IT. IT CAUGHT ON. WE R MAINSTREAM. #POWERCOUPLE LIVES

 

Raven Reyes  
9:50 pm  
Holy shit. Did they mean to win that?

Jasper Jordan  
9:52 pm  
nope. just happened. they’re 2perf and cant fight it

Octavia Blake  
9:53 pm  
Don’t tell me that shit was an accident. Was it an accident?

Lincoln  
9:55 pm  
Why would they have done it on purpose?

Nathan Miller  
9:55 pm  
Yeah, I can’t see why they would actually want to go on a date

Monty Green  
9:56 pm  
Unless. They actually just. Wanted to go on a date.

Octavia Blake  
9:58 pm  
DO THEY ACTUALLY JUST WANT TO GO ON A DATE?

Monty Green  
9:59 pm  
lol no. It was a total accident. The date is real though.

Nathan Miller  
10:01 pm  
Wait. There’s a delay between shooting/airing. The date has already happened. You guys know what happened on the date. WHAT HAPPENED? 

Raven Reyes  
10:02 pm  
Whoa with the caps, Miller  
(but srsly @monty&jas tell us)

Nathan Miller  
10:02 pm  
I don’t wanna hear it. I wasn’t invested in this until you people got me invested, so now you have to deal w it.

Monty Green  
10:07 pm  
We can’t tell you. And I’ve pretty much wrestled Jasper’s phone away so he WON’T tell you.

Jasper Jordan  
10:08 pm  
itw as so ls;jgi433

Monty Green  
10:10 pm  
NOW I’ve wrestled Jasper’s phone away and taken an elbow to the jaw for my trouble. You’re welcome, assholes. And trust me, you don’t want spoilers. You just need to experience it for yourself. Let it happen.

Octavia Blake  
10:11 pm  
Well I’ve got to go spontaneously combust now bye

Lincoln  
10:12 pm  
Not on my couch, please. The mess.

Raven Reyes  
10:12 pm  
It’s not spontaneous if you plan it.

Octavia Blake  
10:14 pm  
x_x sorry i cant im dead

 

Jasper Jordan  
12:02 am  
hey i can totally send you all the uncut date footage through the company server. itll look like an ~official tech thing~. u just gotta promise not to show the girls or tell monty.

Nathan Miller  
12:04 am  
You’re the real MVP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? A DATE? MORE WEIRD EMOTIONS? WHO CAN SAY???
> 
> Sorry this was such a long time coming! Since it was like twice the length of my usual chapter (probably more), it took aaaages to write, and I really didn't want to fuck up the important bits. Hope this update was worth the wait! The next chapter will have their date (!!!!!!!) and some hopefully cool stuff from both Lexa and Echo. Who knows what those two have up their little alpha female sleeves... We all know Clarke is the HBIC here.
> 
> (And once again, endless thanks to everyone who helped this story and/or Superlatives win Best Fake Relationship and Best College AU in the Bellarke Fanfic Awards! Every story nominated was phenomenal, and I'm proud to have been among them.)


	9. Love is...A First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DATE CHAPTER DATE CHAPTER.  
> I made myself feel things while writing this. Squealy things, but also not squealy things.  
> I'm not sorry for what's about to happen.

Clarke Griffin had always been a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and on the rare occasion she was unsure, she had the presence of mind to think things over and make a decision. She honestly could not remember a time when she had been as conflicted as she was over what she was hoping for from this date.

“Please God, nothing too romantic,” pleaded one half of her brain. “It’ll just make things worse.”

Meanwhile, the other whispered, “This will be the closest you ever get to dating Bellamy. Might as well milk that shit for all it’s worth.” 

They were both valid points. She had confronted some buried feelings at the worst possible moment (when the best case scenario of this whole situation involved Bellamy walking into the proverbial sunset with a girl who wasn’t her) so a date that allowed her to indulge those feelings would really only make everything hurt worse in the end. But if this was it, the only chance she would ever have to enjoy those feelings even a little bit before doing everything in her power to eviscerate them in order to be happy for her friend...

So, for possibly the first time in her entire life, Clarke decided to put all her trust in the decision-making skills of others. Whatever date the showrunners had in store for them, she would accept it and deal. Hoping wouldn’t change anything anyway.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Lexa remarked after an unsubtle sidelong glance. “Do you even want to do this? I thought you liked him.” 

Clarke shot her a furious glare from the bathroom, where Monroe was giving her hair soft little scrunches for maximum casual wave. (Monroe was aware this was a competition, right? Whatever. Gift horse.) Hopefully, Lexa’s “concern” wouldn’t make it past editing, but given how much footage they would likely air of her date prep, Clarke wasn’t holding her breath. Her roommate was, by shades, becoming more and more like Echo; while her mother had drilled into her the instinct to deal with conflict as gracefully as possible, she wasn’t far off from a confrontation. This was reality TV, wasn’t it? If there was any context in which she’d be forgiven (or even applauded) for making a scene, it was here. 

Shrugging, she replied, calmly, “I do want to, and I do like him. Isn’t it natural to be a little nervous?” She tried for a self-deprecating smile, but from Lexa’s unimpressed frown, she could tell it didn’t play. 

“Whatever you say,” Lexa pushed herself off her bed and made for the door. “Why don’t you wear that purple top today? Looks nice on you.” And with that seemingly offhand recommendation, she left. 

If Clarke knew one goddamn thing, it was that she would be stuffing that purple top into the back of her closet and not wearing it today or potentially ever. Lexa would only give earnest advice to a rival if she had a literal gun to her head, and maybe not even then. She would be the type to take a bullet for spite.

When she turned back to the mirror, Monroe was smiling at her a little. The smaller girl hopped up on the wide counter to sit cross-legged and face Clarke head-on. “You’re excited, aren’t you?” 

With a shy grin that should’ve been for the cameras’ benefit but wasn’t, Clarke nodded. “I am. And not just because I’m sure they’ve got something outrageous planned for us. It’ll be...fun.” 

Monroe leaned forward to slap a hand protectively across Clarke’s eyes before giving her a playful but thorough puff of hairspray. “Oh, stop. I can’t even look at your puppy face anymore.” 

Clarke couldn’t argue. Between her hair and burgeoning grin, she probably did resemble nothing so much as a very happy golden retriever.

 

 

Earlier that morning, Clarke had realized she had no idea what to expect from this afternoon. Given that she had tried to stay as far away from the entire affair as possible, she couldn’t remember much about what had happened when Echo went on her one-on-one, and Byrne hadn’t been much help. The only remotely helpful things she had said were that Clarke should dress casually and that the letter containing the (likely pun-laden) date hint wouldn’t be arriving until just before she was due to leave. 

Excellent.

In the interests of beauty sleep, and also the amazing stress-reducing properties of being unconscious, Clarke had promptly gone back to bed after their morning briefing. She knew for a fact that her only two options, in terms of time-killing activities for the day, were pacing a rut into the carpet of her bedroom and stress-eating toad-in-the-holes (toads-in-the hole? who cares? fucking egg-toast.), most likely at the same time. 

Unfortunately, before she could slip back into bed, her little pager thing gave the softest of buzzes from under her mattress. 

 

Bellamy Blake  
6:47 am  
Mental state, scale of 1-10, 1 being Crito watching Socrates drink hemlock and 10 being Jasper in the pet store that one time.

Clarke Griffin  
6:49 am  
Mm, talk nerdy to me. And by that, I mean, only to me, or you’ll never get a girlfriend ever. Like 6.5? Calm with general positive outlook. You? 

Bellamy Blake  
6:51 am  
Or I’ll just find the right girlfriend who likes it. (Let me dream.) I’m at a 7-8ish? Honestly, I’m looking forward to a break from the whole “gotta impress girls” thing. 

Clarke Griffin  
6:52 am  
So you aren’t gonna try to impress me? Rude, tbh. 

Bellamy Blake  
6:53 am  
You doctored me when I had the flu last year. I threw up almost directly into your lap. What the hell could I ever do to impress you at this point? 

Clarke Griffin  
6:56 am  
I’ve seen worse. I mean, it was still repulsive in every way, but I’m not holding a grudge. And I was still impressed when you slayed that conspiracy case against Diana Sydney, so. There’s always hope. 

Clarke Griffin  
6:56 am  
(But srsly, Thelonious talked about that for a week. Brought it up at Thanksgiving. Demanded I invite you to more things.) 

Bellamy Blake  
6:57 am  
Well then, I’ll see what I can do. (Now I know why he sent me a Christmas present. It was a really nice single-malt, btw.)

Clarke Griffin  
6:57 am  
That’s crap. Last year he got me a monogrammed North Face, like I’m some 20 year-old Kappa Delta. Jesus. 

Bellamy Blake  
6:59 am  
Does it sting that your stepdad likes me better? At least we know he approves, if we have to fake our way out of the show. 

Clarke Griffin  
7:01 am  
I’m sure it won’t come to that, slick. I’m going back to bed. 

 

That had been that, as far as Clarke was concerned, and she slept soundly for the next three hours. Master of anxiety-naps, she was only woken by Monroe shaking her shoulder and whispering that if she (Clarke) got up now, she (Monroe) would do her hair. 

 

 

Hair done and looking to avoid Lexa for the rest of the afternoon, Clarke decided she would spend what was likely her last hour or two having a leisurely lunch with the other girls. (For all she seemed to like Clarke, Lexa was generally uninterested in prolonged interaction with the others, splitting her time between the gym, the pool, and one of the upstairs lounges.) Lunch was shockingly pleasant-- none of the other girls carried the same competitive fire in their eyes that Lexa and Echo did, and if they were jealous of Clarke’s date, they didn’t show it. After the standard round of “are you excited’s” and “what do you think you’ll do’s”, the date was entirely ignored until the letter came. 

“This just came for you,” Not-Jenny announced, striding into the dining room and dropping the envelope in front of Clarke.

 

“Thanks.” The flap of the heavy envelope looked...flappier that usual. Clarke peeked at it surreptitiously. Yep-- instead of being completely sealed, the flap had an inch-long gap beneath it, as if someone had started to open it, only to reconsider. Sneakiness with a conscience. Clarke could only respect that.

The letter was typical for The One: lovely cardstock, godawful content.

“What kind of date is in store?  
Just wait and see.  
It’s time to make decisions,  
and the odds are 50/50.”

Jesus Christ.

At some point, the other girls had clustered around to read over Clarke’s shoulder. Allison murmured, “What does that mean?” and several others made inquisitive noises in agreement.

“I don’t...” Clarke shrugged. “I don’t even know. But it sounds exciting?” 

She was met with a chorus of concurrence, and, since the arrival of the letter heralded her last few minutes before departure, she left the letter with the girls and made her way back upstairs. Might as well give herself a last once-over. Or, so she thought. Instead, she was accosted by Echo at the foot of the stairs. 

“Clarke,” she started abruptly. “Are you going back to your room?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you?” Echo jerked a thumb behind her, towards one of the lesser-used side parlors. It was currently empty, save for the ever-present cameras mounted on the walls.

This felt like a bad idea. Clarke was hesitant to open herself up to any kind of perceived rivalry with the most competitive girl on the show, but at the same time... Worst case scenario, Echo would say or do something to mess up her date, and nobody watching would get their hopes up for Clarke to win. Nice.

“Sure,” Clarke allowed Echo to sidle her into the small adjacent room and watched as she locked the door behind them. “What did you want to talk about that we need all this privacy for?” All the dramatics for, more like.

“Just,” Echo took a deep breath, looking like she was regretting this already, “you shouldn’t trust your roommate from now on.”

“I’m sorry?” Not that she really trusted Lexa now, per se, but she did like her. And furthermore, what did Echo know?

She shrugged, lips pursed. “You’re pulling ahead. If I had to guess, she’s probably got some kind of sabotage in the works.”

“How would you know that?” There was a zero percent chance Lexa was conspiring with Echo. Right?

All she said was, “It’s what I’d do.”

Clarke shook her head, bemused. “Two questions. What do you know about Lexa, and, if it’s something you would do, why are you warning me instead of doing it?” 

Echo chuckled, albeit begrudgingly. “I don’t know anything about her, but like recognizes like. And honestly, it’s in my best interest for you to stay and her to go.” 

Was that supposed to be insulting? Clarke wasn’t sure, but it definitely wasn’t flattering.

She went on, “Lexa’s a player. I like you, so I hope you won’t take it as an insult when I say that you’re not. You might be doing well right now, but only because you got lucky. I don’t think your head’s in the game. And that’s fine. Of the two of you, I like you better, and-- maybe because-- you won’t get in my way. So just listen to what I’m telling you, okay?

Clarke thought it over. The girl’s logic was sound. Between her and Lexa, she was by far the lesser threat. It really was in Echo’s best interest to keep Clarke around, and if she were perfectly objective, she would’ve suspected Lexa of something too. So she hummed thoughtfully and said, “Alright, I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks for the tip.” 

“No problem. Does this mean we’re like...friends now?” Echo looked uncomfortable with the idea.

It struck Clarke that the odds of Echo ever having had any real female friendships were, with the way she acted, incredibly slim. A little taken with the idea of knocking the girl off-balance, she smiled and said, “Oh, you bet. See you later, pal.”

 

 

The car came for Clarke shortly thereafter, and she was driven, alone, directly away from the house for a good forty-five minutes. None of the techs spoke to her-- not when she was being taken to the car, not when they opened the door to let her out-- so honestly, she was feeling just a little paranoid when they led her through an abandoned parking lot and directed her toward the only car in sight. 

As she got closer, she noticed that it was a older Mustang, vintage American muscle, and a convertible at that. Between this and the boat, Clarke concluded that whoever was choosing the vehicles for these dates had fantastic tastes. She didn’t get to admire it for long though, as the driver’s side door opened and out stepped Bellamy.

Okay, really, he didn’t so much step out as emerge, almost in slow motion, and God damn it, how was it possible he looked so good? It wasn’t like Clarke had never noticed before-- the Blakes were kind of visually in-your-face about their perfect genes-- but she’d definitely never taken the time to soak it up and enjoy it. Well, she thought, no time like the present.

“Hey,” he greeted her cheerily, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them onto the front of his shirt (ugh, one of those two-button shirts that looked so good on every guy but somehow even better on him) before pulling her into a hug. “How’s it going?”

As she extricated herself, not too quickly, she gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m good. Just a little confused, I guess. The letter I got about today was pretty cryptic. Wanna clue me in?” 

Bellamy laughed, soft and fond, and Clarke really needed to snap the fuck out of it before she did something embarrassing on national television. “Absolutely. So, the deal is this: since we’re going on this date because we won a game, obviously we need to play another game.” 

She couldn’t help but groan a little. “Man, really? This is turning into Saw: the Dating Show. And I think we might’ve used up all our luck with the first one.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Besides, it’ll be easy. All we have to do is get in the car and go. When we come to an intersection, you’re going to flip,” he reached into his pocket and produced a quarter, which he dropped into her palm, “this coin. Heads means we turn left, tails means we turn right. We’ll do that twenty times, and the first place we come to...that’s where we end up.” 

Clarke opened her mouth, delighted but wary, and closed it. “So, if we end up at, like, a golf course...?”

“Then you’re in luck,” he planted a hand on her back (God he should really, really stop doing that) and led her around to the passenger side, before opening her door. “Because I am a terrible golfer.” 

 

 

Despite the unfamiliar car and radio stations, being on a long drive with Bellamy was entirely familiar territory. They had driven home for holidays together every year after Octavia found out that their families lived in neighboring cities, carpooled to parties, and made many a late-night food run. During those lengthy trips home, she and the Blakes had developed a foolproof way to stay awake, entertained, and not (for Early Days Clarke and Bellamy) at each other’s throats: play middle-school-caliber party games with ruthlessly enforced rules. 

For the sake of appearances, Clarke explained as they were setting out that she and her friends liked to play games on roadtrips.

“Oh?” Bellamy asked, the picture of innocence. “What kind of games?” 

Clarke bit her lip and gave him a sidelong glance, as if evaluating his readiness, but also choosing a game. Fuck Marry Kill was a little much for television, and Never Have I Ever quickly devolved into the risque as well. “Like...truth or dare?”

“Is that your answer or a question?”

“Both.”

“Well,” he pretended to deliberate, “since I don’t know what kind of darer you are, I’ve gotta go with truth. Who knows what you'll make me do?” 

“Only one way to find out,” she winked. “But since you’re playing it safe, I’ll give you an easy one: why do you get to drive?” 

Casually and without missing a beat, he replied, “Something ridiculous to do with traditional gender roles, I’m sure, and also something to do with the fact that I have my driver’s license in my wallet, and you don’t.”

Clarke nodded sagely. “Ah, that’s a pretty solid reason.” She flipped the quarter and caught it in a fist. “Turn...left up here.”

Bellamy complied. “So, my turn?” At her nod, he prompted, “Truth or dare?” 

She scoffed. “You took the easy way out the first time, so I think I will too. Truth.” 

“Then you’ll get an easy one too.” His smile turned wicked. “What would you say is your favorite thing about me?"

Maybe it wasn't in-character, but Clarke couldn't stop herself from letting out a loud, "Ha!" of disbelief. "I hope you aren't expecting to hear that it's your modesty!" 

Bellamy chuckled softly, but when he looked at her across the console, his expression was inscrutable. "Seriously, though. You wouldn't be here if you didn't like me. So, what is it?" The twitch of his wrist that twisted his watch around was so small, Clarke almost missed it. 

He was right. She wouldn't be here, likely breaking any number of laws to cheat at a dating show for him, if she didn't care about him. And she had agreed to it before she had realized...everything. "Well," she chose her words carefully, "I guess it's because stuff like this is so easy. It's never awkward or weird, just sort of natural." 

Bellamy's unreadable face only got more intense when she said "weird", so she went on. "I'm happy when I'm around you. Satisfied?" She reached over and gave his wrist a reassuring squeeze, brushing her thumb over his watch face just enough to shift it an inch. Of course she meant it. Maybe it was too much, but he deserved to hear it. 

His answering grin was blinding. "Very."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Clarke was positive that she would not be able to handle whatever it was, emotionally, so she barreled on. She flipped the coin as they came to an intersection and directed him right." So, your turn. Truth or dare?"

Shaking off the abrupt shift, Bellamy shot her a side-eye that explained very eloquently just where Octavia had learned it from. "Well, since you mocked me mercilessly for choosing truth last time, go ahead and do your worst. Dare me."

Good old Bellamy. Almost painfully predictable when provoked. Clarke's smile was foxy and sharp. "My worst, huh? Let's see..." She could almost feel his preemptive regret radiating from the driver's seat. Many years of truth or dare had given her a finely honed sense of the kind of dares that would strike fear into the heart of a seemingly intimidating man. And if there was one thing she knew Bellamy Blake refused to do... "Alright, then, tough guy. I dare you to scroll through the radio stations until you find a song you know, then sing along to it for one verse and one chorus."

His face fell into a grim frown. "Is there any way I can get out of this? Seriously, any way?"

"Nope. Now get to scrolling."

Bellamy pressed the "seek" button with the air of one switching on his own electric chair, and the radio began skipping through every station with decent reception. Country music, opera, NPR, some kind of terrifying death metal, and a televangelist show played in five-second bursts until finally Clarke whipped out a hand to hit the button again, stopping it on one station.

"This one."

Bellamy eyed her doubtfully. "You said I got to pick the song."

"I believe my exact words were, 'until you find a song you know'. And if you try to tell me you don't know this one, I'll know that you're a liar and never trust you again." She shrugged as if this course of events would be inconvenient but ultimately not so bad.

Letting out a frustrated puff of air, he countered, "Fine. But since you tricked me with some kind of fairy deal-- you know, seemingly simple but fraught with technicalities-- I insist that you sing with me."

Clarke considered it. On the one hand, he was an attorney and really should've been more careful with what he agreed to. On the other, it had truly been a devious move on her part... "Alright, fine. But you have to start." She cranked up the volume and looked at him expectantly.

Usually, it was impossible to tell in Bellamy was blushing, and Clarke mostly assumed that he just never did. Now, however, his face was somewhere in the vicinity of a terracotta flowerpot, in terms of both color and lack of expression. He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head all the while, and began, in his incongruously deep voice, "I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world..."

It was all Clarke could do to keep herself from physically doubling over with laughter, as she was fairly sure she would end up smacking her head against the dashboard. She hoped that, for the safety of the viewers at home, her cackles and gasping breaths drowned out most of Bellamy's singing. He was great at a lot of things and pretty good at even more, but singing was not among any of them.

To his credit, he kept going, face steely with determination-- determination to press on and also not to smile, which really just made it better. Eventually, he shot Clarke a meaningful look, something along the lines of, "Jump in anytime."

His stony expression held on for just one more second after Clarke came in on, "Come on, Barbie, let's go party," in the manliest voice she could manage, at which point, he promptly lost it. He couldn't catch his breath in time for his part, so she filled in the, "Ah, ah, ah" section herself, bouncing in her seat and generally embracing the Barbie Girl vibe. The agreed-upon chorus and verse came and went, but they kept on going. Bellamy really seemed to get into the spirit of it, possibly just to humor Clarke and possibly because Barbie Girl was an undeniably catchy song; Clarke was too pathetically happy to point it out.

The song drew to a close as they pulled up to an intersection, and Clarke directed them left.

"How many is that now?"

"We've got like...fifteen more to go? There were a bunch back-to-back."

He took a patient breath. "Did you lose count?"

"No. And I'm shocked that you would think that. Shocked."

"You lost count."

"Kinda," she shrugged. "But I'm 99% sure that we only have fifteen more left."

He shrugged back, seemingly content to keep driving for as long as they wanted. "Truth or dare?"

Fifteen turns turned out to be a longer of a drive than Clarke expected. Bellamy's Barbie Girl retaliation dare involved making her do the Macarena with her shoes on her hands-- and naturally the Macarena was not on the radio, meaning she had to do it to the beat of Hotel California. Not her finest hour, really.

Possibly scarred from his turn at karaoke, Bellamy chose truth next. Clarke, definitely scarred, settled for a relatively easy question that seemed appropriately get-to-know-you. "What's your favorite thing about your job?"

Bellamy, visibly relieved, pursed his lips and considered it. "It'd be easy to say 'the money'. Because really, that is pretty nice. Growing up, there wasn't a lot of it, and things definitely would've been easier for my sister and me if there had been. But it's not really my favorite. I think my favorite is getting to help people get out of bad situations they don't deserve to be in."

"What do you mean?" They'd talked about this before, a little, but never in depth.

"I mean, I know defense attorneys are supposed to be scumbags who help rich people and criminals avoid jail time, but it's not really like that. Well," he allowed, "some are. But you'd be surprised how often the poor and minorities are unfairly prosecuted. Companies that screw up like to scapegoat the little guy, and honestly, don't even get me started on mandatory minimum sentencing and the privatization of the prison system. It's completely racist, not to mention obviously corrupt. So...yeah. The money's great, but I do a lot of pro bono stuff, and if it were all about the money, I wouldn't bother. I know how it sounds, but it really is about justice." 

Okay, Clarke really needed him to stop saying shit like that in her presence, and if she had known how weirdly hot his answer was going to make her, she wouldn't have picked a different question. It was like her heart had a boner for him, and she was not going to consider the finer points of what that meant. (It helped that she also just had a regular boner for him too.) It was too much to hope that she didn't look completely cow-eyed, so instead she focused on looking an appropriate amount of cow-eyed for someone who had only known Bellamy for a few weeks. Naturally, this involved toning it down some.

Dazedly, she managed a nod and a, "Wow," trying all the while to remember how firmly not attracted to him she had been for that awful, blissful one minute of Barbie Girl. 

If he noticed her face fogging over with lust and God knows what else, he didn't show it. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth." 

"Alright, then. What's the worst date you've ever been on?" He grinned, obviously anticipating a good story. 

Without hesitation, she replied, "Oh, this one." 

Really, he should've seen that coming, but his eyes still widened in shock for a split second before he shot her a mock glare. "You are the meanest girl I've ever taken on a short-road-trip-slash-date."

"If I had to guess, I'm probably the only girl you've ever taken on a short-road-trip-slash-date," she laughed, "so I'm okay with that. But seriously, the worst date I've ever been on? It would have to be the one where my boyfriend's other girlfriend showed up halfway through." 

Whether his mildly stunned expression was for the camera's benefit or because he hadn't expected her to be so casual about the Finnfidelity thing, Clarke wasn't sure. His brow furrowed, somewhere between irritation and resentment. After a moment, he shook his head. "It blows my mind that anyone would ever think that you weren't enough for them, or want anyone else. You know that's bullshit, right?"

Clarke's entire brain froze, her thoughts bouncing back and forth between "That is not what he would say if we didn't know each other, " and "Does he know we're not supposed to swear??" like competing error messages until everything dissolved into white noise and "!!!!!!" for one paralyzing second. But she could feel his gaze still intent on the side of her face, so she schooled her features and smiled, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Thanks, Bellamy."

He shifted, suddenly awkward, as if realizing that he had gone out of character, and adjusted his grip on the wheel. He started to speak, but they were approaching an intersection, and Clarke cut him off with a coin flip.

"Take a left up here."

Nodding, Bellamy did as he was told, then opened his mouth to speak again.

Yet again, Clarke found herself entirely unequipped to handle anything he might say, so she pretended not to notice and asked. "Truth or dare?"

They kept playing, but they kept it light-- no intense personal questions, no crazy dares. (Clarke recited the bones of the hand in a terrible Australian accent, and Bellamy revealed that he had read Pride and Prejudice at least four times.) It was fun, easy, and Clarke almost forgot that they were supposed to be on a date, until it came time to flip the coin again. At the twentieth intersection, the flip went wide, and the coin landed in Bellamy's lap.

"Very fitting," Clarke pronounced. "You call the last one."

He craned his neck down to see the quarter. "Uh, heads. Left, right?"

"Right."

"Wait, right? Or left?" He jiggled the wheel indecisively, his face too perfectly innocent.

Clarke smacked him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh. "Oh my God, shut up."

"Left it is," he relented, snickering.

"You're a child."

Left turned out to be a long stretch of empty road that went on for two solid miles without a landmark before dead-ending in front of a small white building, surrounded on both sides by open field. Bellamy pulled the car into a parking space, got out, and opened Clarke's door. She stood but didn't move away from the car.

"Bellamy?"

"Yes, Clarke?"

"This is a gas station."

He cocked his head and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You know, I'm glad you told me. From the big sign, I thought we might've just stumbled onto the world's cheapest strip club. I just assumed that meant lap dances were $2.39 a pop."

"I can't imagine how disappointed you must be."

"Incredibly. I was gonna get you so many lap dances. But I think we can still make it work. What about you?"

"Hmm," she bobbled her head, as if weighing her options, then grinned. "Let's make it work!"

"That's what I'm talking about!" Bellamy put up a hand, and she slapped it with zero irony whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, the car was parked in the grass to the side of the gas station, facing the road and the setting sun. The top was down, and Clarke and Bellamy were kicked back in the backseat. Scattered on the seats and floorboards around them were bags of chips, two unopened bottles of Coke, and a few empty Kitkat wrappers. Bellamy's feet were propped up on the front console, and Clarke's were propped up on his. She was alternating between slurping the last of her cherry Icee and trying to catch the Raisinettes Bellamy was throwing at her in her mouth. He was alternating between throwing his candy at Clarke and eating it himself. It was comfortable, somehow intimate despite the fact that Clarke was pretty sure she saw a little camera drone hovering over them. (Monty and Jasper’s handiwork, if she had to guess.)

"So," he asked through a mouthful of Raisinettes, "what do you think? Is this the worst date you've ever been on now?"

She leaned back, her head pillowed on the arm he had draped across the back of the seat, not directly touching her but not not-touching her either. "Definitely not. Actually, I think dates in general could take a lesson from this. If you want to impress a girl, hang out and eat junk food with her in the back of a car. Watch the sun go down."

"Oh, so you are impressed," he smirked, and she remembered their conversation from this morning.

"Sure I am," Clarke said easily. "You know, if nothing else, we'll always have the Texaco."

Bellamy laughed a quiet, rueful sort of laugh and tossed another Raisinette at her. This one, she caught-- finally!-- so he threw two more in rapid succession, both of which she caught.

He was laughing again, louder now, as she munched triumphantly. Her triumph only lasted a moment before her face twisted and she swallowed painfully. "Oh God, I forgot what that was. I cannot believe you tricked me into eating raisins!"

"Three raisins," he rolled his eyes, still smiling. "Excuse me for trying to sneak some iron into your diet. You're welcome."

'"Don't you mom me, Bellamy Blake."

"I could never. I'm too devastatingly handsome to be a mom."

"Eh," she tilted her head up to look him over. "You're alright."

He scoffed. "Now you're just being ridiculous." 

Clarke could feel her face sliding into a big, stupid smile that she couldn't stop. (Full disclosure, she didn't really try. It felt in-character, and moreover, she kinda just wanted to absorb the moment. It was probably a one-time thing.)

Bellamy suddenly looked indecisive for a second-- maybe the third time she had ever seen him look indecisive in eightish years-- and slid his right hand down under her left. Her fingers rested against his watch band, and for half a moment, he gave her this hesitant look, like, "Stop me anytime you want." Then his mouth was on hers.

It took an unprecedented amount of willpower not to make some noise of surprise and ever more not to wind her hand in his hair and drag him closer. He had made it so easy for her to say no. He wasn't touching her anywhere else, not doing the dramatic romcom face-grab, and it would've been nothing to twitch her fingers a centimeter and pop the clasp of his watch open. He would get the message and back off instantly. But there was no part of her that wanted to.

After what seemed like an appropriate interval-- the span of a single, thrilled inhalation-- Clarke closed her hand over his, lacing their fingers, and brought her free hand up to rest at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. She was used to their ability to communicate with eye contact, but this was a new challenge. So she brushed her thumb over the base of his throat, where she could feel the echo of his pulse, and softly, carefully urged him forward. It was the closest she could come to saying "It's okay," and "More," without actually pulling away.

Blessedly, he took the hint and leaned in further, transforming the kiss from something sweet but polite into something intense and potentially too much for a major TV network to broadcast. Now Clarke couldn't stop herself from making a low noise, somewhere between a groan and a general hum of contentment. 

Just as she was really sinking into it, completely uncaring if this was weird for them or inappropriate for public viewing, Bellamy nipped at her bottom lip. That snapped her out of it. Not enough to stop her enjoying it, mind, just enough to clear her clouded head. So she was fully aware of what was happening when the hand tangled with hers stirred, fiddling with her ring. Was he twisting it or trying to take it off? The thought of the former was too much, and she shut it down immediately. So he was red-flagging? That made no sense. He seemed completely into it, and wouldn't he have just pulled away? Maybe he was just giving her the opportunity to be the one to break it off.

If Clarke had been a better person, she would've backed off right away. It's what Bellamy would've done if the roles were reversed. But recently, she had no problem admitting that he was sometimes a better person than she was, and she hung on for another second. A few seconds. Kind of a while, really. But she did eventually let go of his shoulder and pull away a fraction, which was enough for him to pull back too. His face was unreadable as they broke apart, and they ended up flopped back in their seats, shoulders touching and breath a little ragged but still synchronized. 

When he finally turned to look at her again, he was smiling slightly, but there was something a little off about it. "Ready to head back?"

She nodded, trying to smile back. Hopefully it read like a real smile, but seriously, his face was freaking her out. It looked just as strained as hers probably did, and what the hell? Had she been wrong to keep going? Was he uncomfortable now? Clarke tried to shut down that train of thought for now. She could worry when she wasn't on camera anymore.

The drive back was quicker. All they had to do was follow the camera cars that had been following a mile or so behind them on their original roundabout route and who probably had GPS. They made pleasant conversation, but nothing as entertaining as truth or dare. If Clarke had to guess, she would assume the drive back would probably be edited into a five-second clip with some snippet of dialogue played over it. 

Their parting was similarly...pleasant. They both smiled, hugged quickly, made the traditional comments about having had "such a great time". The entire time, Clarke could help but feel a cold sinking in her stomach like she had swallowed whole ice cubes, then been subsequently punched in the chest, like some kind of weird but not ineffective form of punishment. Her face was grim as she kissed him on the cheek; without quite meaning to, she had come halfway to a decision that she couldn't talk to him about. His hand curled into her hair, holding her in place, before she pulled away. Could he read the wrongness on her face like she could his before? So she smiled one last time as she said goodbye and walked back to the house. 

 

 

Back in the house, most of the other girls were in the kitchen doing something for dinner, and they received her enthusiastically. They all asked how the date had gone, what they had done, was it great? Clarke answered their questions as best she could, despite the voice in her head screaming that she needed to get away from everyone and just _think_ for a second. (Had she really upset Bellamy? Had he kissed Echo on their date? She hadn't stuck around to find out. Was she reading too much into things, projecting her feelings onto it?) Eventually, she accepted a plate of some kind of stir-fry from Maya, less because she was hungry and more because it had been so sweetly offered, and made her excuses. 

Clarke had every intention of holing up in her room and eating there like a sullen teenager, then languishing in the bathtub (where she wouldn't be filmed) until she could figure this all out. Those plans were thrown sideways when she found Lexa already in their room, stretched across her bed like a big cat, with eyes that were somehow just as predatory. After a cursory "hey", Clarke settled down with her plate and began picking distractedly at her vegetables. She heard Lexa get up, stretch, and pad over, barefoot and in some kind of quasi-pajamas. Dimly, she thought that only Lexa could make soft pants and a camisole look like a legitimate outfit.

She was braced for Lexa to ask her about the date, maybe make some kind of backhanded comment again, but she just folded herself down next to Clarke and stole a piece of broccoli.

Swallowing, Lexa looked her over. "You look good. Monroe did your hair, right?"

"Mhm. Thanks."

"What's wrong?" She actually sounded concerned, reaching out to brush a hand down Clarke's arm. Lexa hadn't ever seemed particularly tactile before, so the touch was surprising but not unwelcome. 

"Nothing," Clarke shook her head. "Just a little tired. It's been a long day." 

Lexa's smile was barely there. "I thought you would be happier, after the date." Clarke said nothing, and she took it as encouragement. "Maybe...maybe you aren't as into him as you thought you were?"

What? Clarke twisted around to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean. You aren't particularly subtle." Lexa looked her up and down with open appreciation. Before Clarke could speak, Lexa tipped forward and kissed her full on the mouth.

For the second time today, Clarke froze. She liked Lexa. Honestly liked her. And it seemed like she liked her back. Embracing feelings for Lexa would certainly be easier than embracing her bigger, scarier ones for Bellamy; Bellamy who was on a dating show, on which she wasn't truly a contestant. She was fooling herself if she thought she was actually in the running to be more than his friend, more than someone with whom he was putting on a good show for an audience. Maybe it would be worth it for them to put pretense aside, get kicked off the show for making out, and date away from all this.

Clarke started to raise her hand, to pull Lexa in closer, but a tingling at the back of her neck stopped her. The sensation of being watched. All at once, she was aware that from the position of the camera in their room, it would look like Clarke was the aggressor. Lexa had positioned herself so Clarke was between her and the camera-- there was no way it caught her making the first move, and she hadn't actually said anything explicitly encouraging, had she? 

Echo's voice reverberated in her memory. "Just, you shouldn't trust your roommate from now on. If I had to guess, she's probably got some kind of sabotage in the works." 

It had seemed outlandish at the time, but now Clarke pulled away from Lexa like she was an open flame. Or a snake. 

(Somewhere in the back of her head, she heard another voice. "It blows my mind that anyone would ever think you weren't enough for them, or want anyone else." That anyone would want anyone else. Hope sparked, just a little, and suddenly she felt very stupid. But it didn't change anything.)

"I can't believe you," she breathed. "I thought you were better than that." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lexa shrugged, completely emotionless.

Clarke opened her mouth to speak but just let out a disbelieving huff. She shook her head. "You want me kicked off." Her half-made decision from earlier snapped into place, solidified. "You want me gone? Fine. I'm gone. But not because of you."

She pushed herself off the bed and stomped into the hall. In one of the lounges, she found a set tech twiddling with a camera. Clarke inserted herself between the tech and the camera. "Get me Byrne." 

 

 

Clarke Griffin  
9:15 pm  
Look, I'm sorry if I was out of line earlier. You wanted out, and I should've backed off. I didn't mean to make things weird, and I really am sorry. Good luck.

Bellamy Blake  
9:16 pm  
What are you talking about? That's not what I was saying at all.

Bellamy Blake  
9:16 pm  
Is that why you were being so weird?

Bellamy Blake  
9:16 pm  
Wait, what the hell do you mean, good luck? 

Bellamy Blake  
9:17 pm  
Clarke?

 

 

Bellamy made some excuse to the set hand lurking in the hall outside his room and strode across the lawn to the tech shed.

"Hey," he swung the door open without knocking, "I think something's up with our--" He held up his little pager. "I don't think Clarke's getting my messages." 

Jasper's eyes were somehow even wider than normal, and Monty stared at his lap, his face creased with something sad. Pity.

"What?" Bellamy demanded. 

Monty looked up at him. "She's, uh. She..." 

"She left," Jasper blurted. "Like, twenty minutes ago, maybe."

"Cage is probably on his way to let you know right now." 

Bellamy stood still, face stony. He thought today had been...he didn't know, good? She hadn't pulled away when he kissed her. She had kissed him back. Of course, things had gotten a little strange after he had done the ring-twisting thing. It was as close as he had ever come to admitting that he felt something for her, had always kind of felt something for her. That he was serious about this if she was. And he had been a little apprehensive when she pulled away. But he figured that it was probably a lot for her to process, so he hadn't pushed. The fact that she didn't immediately break away had given him some hope, so he was fully prepared to suffer a little awkwardness while she decided where she stood. 

Apparently, she had decided. And she hadn't wanted him.

That was fine.

Jasper, desperate to fill the silence, murmured, "It's not too late for you to run after her dramatically. Do the whole airport thing. Take a camera guy with you. They'd eat it up."

"No," he said, a little harsher than he meant to. "She was free to leave whenever she wanted. I thought- I thought she'd at least let me know first, but it's fine. She was the one doing me a favor." 

He turned to go, but Monty called after him. "She left you a note. She said to only give it to you if you seemed upset. You...seem upset. Do you want it?"

Mouth grim, Bellamy shook his head. "I'm not upset."

He repeated that to himself as he walked back to the house, repeated it until it started to seem a little less like a pathetic lie.

 

 

The1_Official: WOW!! What's everyone thinking about Bellamy and Clarke's date? (We've heard something about #powercouple?) What about her sudden, unexplained departure??

carmex_sandiego: @the1_official honestly what the FUCK. their date made his date with echo look like shit and t hen SHE LEAVES? WHAT THE FUCK CLARKE  
-RT'd by quim-kardash, jesuschristopher, and 36 others-

freddyvsjasonderulo: @the1_official I mean, if she wants to go, she can go. I was really starting to get behind this #powercouple thing, but if that's the way she wants to be, whatever.  
-RT'd by sigh-entology, grandalf, and 22 others-

lilsmoochie: @the1_official WTF THE FUCK WTHA IS HAPPENING WHERE DID CLARKE GO BRING BACK CLARKE EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME JUST BRING HER BACK

-RT'd by arghs_amatoria, skeletongeneral, and 43 others-

 

 

Lincoln  
7:47 am  
How's Clarke?

Octavia Blake  
7:50 am  
She's...quiet. She didn't expect us to pick her up at the airport, so she kinda word-vomited and hasn't really spoken since.

Raven Reyes  
7:52 am  
Yeah, it was all "I'm in love with Bellamy and I couldn't do it anymore and I don't want to talk about it, so don't make me talk about it", then radio silence for 32 hours.

Nathan Miller  
7:55 am  
Thank God Jasper caved and set me the footage. @jas sorry for telling, btw, but I had to.

Jasper Jordan  
8:10 am  
nah man i understand. we wouldve called to let you guys know but we thought she might want some privacy at first. i figured she'd be home by the time you got around to watching it.

Nathan Miller  
8:13 am  
You're kidding, right? You sent it at 12:10, and I watched it at 12:10:15. Y'all got me way too invested in this #powercouple thing. Speaking of which...are we not happy it worked out? We can at least be happy they didn't air that scene with Lexa. 

Raven Reyes  
8:15 am  
Uh, NO? Because clearly it did not work out. I mean yeah, their date was 10/10, but Clarke says all the good parts were for the audience. Long story short, like 5% of her thinks Bellamy likes her back, but 95% thinks she's just projecting. And he has other girls there he's into, so she thinks he'd rather stay and flesh that out. Plus, if he were actually into her, something would've happened before now.

Raven Reyes  
8:15 am  
And if any of you say SHIT to her, I will kick your ass. With my metal leg. It might break some bones, but that's what you get.

Monty Green  
8:17 am  
...what if I tell her that Bellamy was 1000% in love with her back when they were both in school but they were both so busy and distracted he never did anything about it? He's acting like he's not upset about her leaving, but he definitely is. He wouldn't even look at the note she left him. (Which is complete gibberish to me, but I feel like it would mean something to him.)

Octavia Blake  
8:19 am  
UGH BELL. WHY DO U SUCK. I'M GOING TO FLY OUT AND MURDER HIM.

Raven Reyes  
8:20 am  
Nope. Not even that. If he still likes her, he can grow the fuck up and do something about it. He can be upset all he wants. As long as my best friend is barricading herself in her room and not speaking to anyone, his repressed manpain is the last thing I care about.

Jasper Jordan  
8:24 am  
...what if we tell him she likes him? im almost positive he doesnt think she does. maybe that would help?

Raven Reyes  
8:29 am  
If he doesn't think she does, he's a fucking fool. But then again, she's being pretty dumb too.

Lincoln  
8:30 am  
We are all fools in love.

Raven Reyes  
8:31 am  
I guess it's your call if you wanna tell him. I say do it, but if he's moving on to other girls, don't you dare. And Monty has to agree.

Monty Green  
8:35 am  
You have no idea what hell you have just unleashed on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOMP THERE IT IS.  
> HOW DO YOU FEEL? 
> 
> tell me allllll about it in the comments or on Tumblr. (Here is where I'd link to my ask, but my computer is busted, so I'm doing all this from my phone. It's in basically every other chapter tho.) 
> 
> Fun fact: I've squeezed in like...at least 5 Pride and Prejudice references (not counting the actual book title) between this chapter and the last. Catch em all! And there's at least one more BIG one to come... 
> 
> Also, no offense to my KD ladies out there, and Panhellenic lurve. I joke, vis a vis monogrammed North Faces. It's funny bc it's true.


	10. Love is...Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT. THE LAST. THE FINAL STORYTELLING CHAPTER BEFORE THE EPILOGUE.  
> Who's ready to find out what the note said? Good things come to those who wait.

Waking up and not being able to text Clarke sucked way more than Bellamy thought it would. Not because he had anything particularly urgent to tell her, or some pressing question (unless "Why did you leave?" counted). It had just become second nature to wake up and reach under his pillow and...say good morning? Bicker a little? Nothing special, really, but it had become meaningful at some point all the same. But this was fine. Part of caring about someone was wanting them to be happy, whether you were involved in that or not, because it wasn't about you. 

Jesus, where had that come from? Never in his life had Bellamy Blake be content to sit back and let people be happy on their own terms. For fuck's sake, look at Octavia! He had shoved his nose and opinions into every aspect of her life for as long as he could remember. Even when she had repeatedly assured him she was happy with Lincoln, he had fought her every step of their relationship: when they moved in together, when they got engaged, everything. And Octavia had resented him for it for a while, but she understood that he just wanted what was best for her. And more importantly, they were the only family they both had-- it's not like she could just walk out of his life, or suddenly decide to have nothing to do with him.

But Clarke could. Hell, she had left, hadn't she? She could take that as far as she wanted: stop answering his texts, refuse to hang out with their friends if he was there. Bellamy wasn't sure why she would do that, though. The only thing that came to mind was the whole kissing thing, but hadn't she apologized for that? If she felt like she had done something wrong, she clearly wasn't blaming him for anything. 

(And that was a whole other thing he couldn't figure out, no matter how much he dissected it. He had given her the go-ahead, verified that he was well and truly into what was happening. But maybe she hadn't felt him do it. Or, worse, she had felt it, realized that he was actually interested, and felt bad because she was just kissing him for the show. God, that was too awful to even bear thinking about. As much as it didn't change anything, he wanted to hold on to the belief that Clarke had actually wanted to kiss him for as long as he could. Hadn't she said something about thinking that he wanted out? It was too much.)

In any case, he could do nothing at the moment but go along with the show and, between dates, cope with the idea that he cared about Clarke enough to let her go, if that was what she wanted. 

At least the dates were good, objectively speaking. The girls were all friendly and interested and arm-touchy. He had gone on another group date the day after she left-- bowling, of all things. He supposed he could see the functionality of it, as a group date. They could all sit together, on a sort of rotating basis, and they could have a fun, teasing atmosphere. Bellamy had smiled and had as good a time as he could manage, which was, like...sort of good. He had been weirdly numb, and it was really only over the next two days that everything sunk in.

The pool of girls had been narrowed down by two more-- the very kooky dog breeder and the nice cosmetologist that he had hated to let go, just because she was kind of precious, if not really his type-- so he was due for a smaller group date today. From the roster Cage had given him, it was a group that included Echo, which he counted as a solid blessing. If anything was going to take his mind off the dismal Clarke thing, it was his obvious and immensely enjoyable chemistry with another girl. It was good enough.

 

 

Clarke had expected the gut-wrenching misery to subside after she got home. After all, she was free to wallow in general shittiness in her own bed, booze and ice cream walking distance away, and her friends being unexpectedly not pushy. That first night, Raven and Octavia had slunk into her room and sandwiched her between them, sort of petting her and making comforting noises until she fell asleep. 

After a few days, she was on the verge of going stir-crazy, despite the fundamental desire to not do anything or go anywhere ever. And her mom had been calling nonstop since the show aired, so finally, she answered and asked to come back to work. Technically, she still had the time off, but she was pretty sure that having her hands inside someone would at take her mind off things. Maybe another guy would come in with something horrific up his ass, and she could feel better about her own life and choices by comparison.

The first time Clarke asked, her mother had refused. If Clarke wasn’t going to tell her what had happened, at least Abby could rest easy knowing that she was dealing with it emotionally. Eventually though, Clarke wore her down. Mostly by bringing up how Abby herself tended to deal with emotional turmoil by throwing herself into work. It was a low blow to bring up her dad’s death, but desperate times. 

“That wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t right of me to do that,” Abby had pointed out. “It didn’t help anything, and I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I can’t encourage you to do the same.” 

“I don’t have anyone that needs me,” Clarke had countered bitterly. “At least you can understand why I want to, can’t you?”

“I guess I do.” 

Clarke went back to work the next day, sliding seamlessly back into her rotation and jumping back into the surgical program. Some of the other residents in the fellowship resented her for having taken so much time off-- specifically for being allowed to take so much time off, rassafrassin’ nepotism-- but she honestly didn’t give a shit. She kept busy, checking in on patients that didn’t really merit the attention and spending her little downtime sleeping in the on-call room.

When she came home in the evenings, or else early in the morning, Raven always watched her, practically bubbling over with unasked questions. But the questions stayed blessedly unasked. 

All she would ever say was, “You wanna talk about it yet?”

And every time, Clarke would shake her head and shuffle off to bed, where she slept without dreaming, mostly. If she was wearing a rut in her life, at least it was a comfortable one that left her too tired to think at the end of the day.

 

 

Echo, Bellamy realized halfway through their date, was really breaking out the sincerity today, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

The five of them were wandering around a hedge maze that was somehow small enough for them to keep bumping into each other. It was pretty entertaining, watching each girl’s face at they rounded a corner and nearly bumped into him. Their expressions tended to switch from shocked to pleased in the space of a second. Not Echo though. Her smile had been so immediate (and borderline smug), Bellamy wondered if she hadn’t found a way to seek him out.

They walked around for a few minutes, just talking, before Echo brought out what he imagined were “the big guns”. 

She leaned over, knocking their shoulders together and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her smile all but vanished. “I’m sorry Clarke left. You expect girls to get eliminated, but it’s another thing to just walk out.”

Bellamy was well-versed enough in manipulation that he could lay her comment open like a frog in freshman biology, poke around at all its parts, both fascinating and ugly. For all intents and purposes, she sounded completely sympathetic to the point of being selfless, wishing that her competition were still here because he might be upset that she had gone. But the way she said, “walk out,” with a hint of sneer in her voice showed her hand. A comment like this was the quickest and subtlest way to drag Clarke’s name through the mud, making both him and viewers resent her and appreciate Echo for her kindness.

He used the next few steps to put some distance between them. He wasn’t sure this was worth burning the bridge he was building with Echo, but despite everything, Clarke was his friend. He couldn’t let Echo turn the audience against her, and she ought to know that she wasn’t turning him against her either.

“I’m sure she had her reasons. From what I saw, she was a good person, not the type to just flake out. Whatever her reasons, it certainly wasn’t for lack of a connection.”

The blow landed, and he watched her temple twitch as she grit her teeth. “I’m sure you’re right. I was just worried that you felt, I don’t know, unwanted.” 

It took everything he had not to laugh outright. He looked at her, then deliberately swept his eyes over the hedge maze, full of girls whose one goal for the last few weeks had been to date him. “Believe me,” he said, wry, “that’s not a concern.” 

Echo nodded, smiling now, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Good. I’m sure the rest of us would be more than happy to make sure you never feel that way. At least, I would.” 

Bellamy very deliberately kept his posture loose so she wouldn’t feel him stiffen under her hand, but he wanted nothing in the world as much as he wanted to shake it off him, if for no other reason than he desperately needed space. Suddenly, it was as if he was seeing everything from a distance, clearly and objectively. And smacking him in the face was the fact that, for all their chemistry, he couldn't be less interested in Echo "making him feel wanted". 

The thing about Echo was, she wasn’t a bad person, really. Maybe a bit mercenary, but this was a competition, and he could certainly understand the determination to win. She was funny and easy to spend time with, that was for sure. And Bellamy was fairly certain that, without the pressure of a reality show, she would probably be even more pleasant to be around. She was pretty much the definition of a viable dating prospect. And in any other world, her borderline inappropriate offer would be incredibly tempting. But she was still Echo, and, much to his chagrin, he still wanted Clarke. 

He wanted Clarke, and it occurred to him that, if there was the tiniest chance that she wanted him back-- and he thought there was, despite her leaving-- why would he even bother pursuing someone else, no matter how great that someone was? Trying to get to know someone else was a complete waste of time and energy, both of which he could be using to persuade Clarke that she had nothing to apologize for and that he was basically in love with her. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he was terrified at the prospect of being rejected. There was so, so much at stake: their entire friendship, the stability of their group, every piece of hope he had stored away without meaning to. But wasn’t all that worth it, compared to the prospect of spending the rest of his life, even if he settled down with someone else, wondering what would’ve happened if he had just risked it?

If he were a character in a romantic comedy, rather than a quasi-character on a reality show, he would’ve run out of the hedge maze and straight to Cage to call it all off. But he had always considered romantic heroes to be wildly irresponsible in their decision-making, so instead, he stopped walking and carefully removed Echo’s hand from his shoulder.

“Look,” he began as tactfully as he could manage, “I have to go. I really like you, and I’m so flattered that you’re interested in me. But, for a lot of reasons, I can’t be here anymore. I hope you can see that it’s got nothing to do with you, with any of you, and I hope you understand.” But whether she understood or not, he had to leave.

More calmly than he would’ve ever anticipated, she asked, “Do you mean you’re leaving here, or leaving the show?” They weren’t really supposed to refer to “the show” that openly, but what did they care, if he was leaving? 

Trying to sound a little regretful, though he was entirely not, he nodded and said, “Leaving the show. Things have just sort of...clicked. And I’m sorry for how it affects you all, but I can’t stay here when I need to be somewhere else.” 

Echo looked down for a second, thoughtful, before looking back at him. “Is this about Clarke?” She didn’t look upset. If anything, some of the tension seemed to have drained from her, her face relaxing into something softer and less determinedly beautiful. 

“Yeah. It’s about Clarke. Are you...?” He couldn’t find the right word, somewhere between “upset” and, as she had said, “feeling unwanted.” 

She thought about it, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. No point in wanting someone who doesn’t want me back, right? But, are you sure this is the right thing? She did, you know. Leave.”

God, Echo was surprising him right until the very end. If he had never met Clarke, Echo could so easily be It for him. But he had. All he could say was, “I’m sure. Thank you.” 

Shrugging, she smirked, “Anyway, this could be great for me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be in your shoes next season.”

“That would be terrifying. God, I really hope so.” 

 

 

Monty and Jasper were waiting when Bellamy got back to the house. Jasper clutched something in both hands that he was obviously itching to hold out to him, and Monty held up a hand as he approached. 

"Do you have a plan for how you're gonna handle this with the producers?" Monty asked. "Because you and Clarke definitely committed some major FCC violations, and they're definitely gonna find out if you're leaving the show to go, like, woo her."

"Why would they have to find out?" 

"Well, I'm assuming you guys will eventually reactivate all your social media accounts, and it'll be pretty obvious."

Shit. "Okay, well, any idea how we can avoid a lawsuit?" At Jasper's disbelieving look, he shrugged. "I have zero practical experience with entertainment law, and it's not like I have my laptop to look up precedent."

Monty, being a paragon of capability, just nodded. "I thought about that. It's a violation of your contract, obviously, but the biggest issue is the fact that you're getting paid. If money wasn't involved, they could release you from the contract without it being an issue. Clarke already forfeited compensation by leaving early..."

"And leaving before mid-season is already costing me most of mine," he confirmed. "So I should just come clean, tell them to invalidate my contract and keep their money?" 

"They could still refuse, but it's probably your best bet."

Bellamy licked his lips. "God. I knew going after her was a risk before, but with all this legal stuff, it's more than just our friendship at stake. It'd be nice to know that she's definitely interested, and that I'm not just going out on this huge limb."

Jasper shot Monty an excited glance and gave the thing in his hands an anxious twist. "So, it's definitely okay to give him this, right? I mean, Raven said, but..." He gestured broadly at the uncertain Bellamy. 

"Definitely."

"What did Raven say?" Bellamy demanded as he accepted a battered envelope from Jasper and turned it over in his hands. "You guys talked to her? Has she talked to Clarke?" 

Monty hesitated. Bellamy was almost positive he was going to give some evasive answer before he pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times, scrolled a bit, and handed it over. "You can never tell her I showed you this. She would kill me, and Clarke would desecrate my corpse."

Silent, Bellamy read the messages Monty had pulled up, starting with Lincoln asking, “Is Clarke okay?” By the time he got to Monty’s last message, he couldn’t feel his face or hands. As such, he wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to scroll back to the top and read the conversation again, but he did. And then one more time just to be sure. When he was done, he looked up at jasper and Monty, face open and incredulous. 

Before he could voice any of his hundreds of questions, Jasper grinned and said, “Read the note.”

“And then tell us what it means,” Monty added. “I read it over her shoulder, but then I couldn’t remember what it said well enough to Google it.” 

“I said we should just open the envelope,” Jasper rolled his eyes, “but, again with the killing and desecration of corpses.” 

Bellamy didn’t respond as he slipped his thumbnail under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open. The paper inside was ragged, probably ripped from one of Monty’s legal pads, and wrinkled from Jasper’s excited abuse. Clarke’s handwriting was deliberate, as if, in her hurry to leave, she wanted to take her time for this one last thing. 

After a second, he carefully folded the re-folded, slipped it back into the envelope, and slid it into his pocket. As much as he wanted to linger over it, it occurred to him that he was incredibly lucky that one of the producers hadn’t stomped over in the middle of this conversation and demanded to know what was going on; that was probably going to happen any minute now, and he would have plenty of time to reread it on the plane. 

Grinning, he clapped them both on the shoulder. "Thanks, guys. I mean it. You've been a godsend. See you at home." And with that, he turned to go.

"Wait!" Jasper called after him. "Are you seriously not gonna tell us what it said?" When Bellamy rounded the corner without replying, he shouted, "Just so you know, this is bullshit!" 

Monty gave his arm a placating pat. "We'll find out eventually." 

 

 

Cage wasn't pleased with Bellamy's news, to say the least, and his manner certainly hadn't helped. Bellamy had more or less stormed into the host's suite on the house's second floor and demanded that he call Byrne and whatever producers were on set.

Making no move to call anyone, Cage just raised a brow and asked, "Why? You're supposed to be on a date right now."

Jaw clenched, Bellamy cocked his head. "Well, obviously I'm not. I'm leaving. So call them." 

It had taken all of five minutes to get Byrne and two of the producers into one of the sitting rooms, and he had wasted no time apprising them of the situation. He told them everything: how he had asked Clarke to come, her reluctant agreement, and everything that had transpired to make him think that going after her would be worth abandoning the show. He did not include the details of Jasper and Monty's involvement.

Cage and Byrne were, by the end of his spiel, openly staring, lips parted and eyes wide. The producers, a tall woman and a short man who had introduced themselves as Johnson and Bartlett without ever specifying which was which, were impassive. 

Cage spoke first. "So that's why you two did so well with that last challenge, huh?" 

"Ah," Bellamy hesitated, "that was by accident. We weren't trying to do well. But yeah, we've known each other a long time." 

"And now you're leaving to go after her," the woman, either Johnson or Bartlett, supplied. 

"Yes."

She exchanged a thoughtful look with the other producer, very clearly saying something with her eyebrows and pursed lips. (Watching the exchange made Bellamy's chest hurt, but in a way that he almost enjoyed.) 

The man must've given some minute sign of agreement, because the woman turned back to face Bellamy with an odd glint in her eye. "We'd like to offer you a deal."

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at them, trying to size them up. The look on the woman's face made him think that this deal didn't bode well for anyone, but so far, they hadn't put up a fight or threatened legal action. And like all offers, Bellamy was sure this one was negotiable. "What kind of deal?"

"We let you out of your contract," the man replied, "no questions asked, and you keep half of your compensation. In return, you give us an exclusive interview in a month, regardless of what happens with Clarke. Televised, with all the contestants there, no holds barred." 

He laughed once, with no trace of humor. "You think she's gonna reject me, so you want me to go on TV and let all the girls I walked away from tell me what an idiot I am. Right?" 

"Pretty much," the woman shrugged. "But think of it this way: if everything goes your way, you can bring Clarke with you. We'll pay her too, and you guys can be adorable enough to get back in the audience's good graces. Because make no mistake, they'll crucify you for leaving."

"Because you'll edit the footage together make me look like the bad guy." 

The producers were unmoved. "We're selling drama," the man shrugged. "This isn't news to you." 

It wasn't. And this was a good deal they were offering. "Fine. I'll do it. But if Clarke doesn't want to, I'm not gonna make her, and neither are you. And you keep us out of the press. I've seen how tabloids treat other couples from the show. No one from your office says anything to them. No comments from 'a source close to the show', nothing. I'll show up for the interview when I get copies of the NDA's you're gonna get the contestants and crew to sign." It was a lot to ask, but this interview they wanted would be huge, and he'd be damned if he would give it to them without getting anything in return.

After another quick, silent conversation, the producers nodded. "Done," the man said. "Now, when do you plan to fly out?"

Hmm. It was Monday. "The next episode airs in three days, right?"

 

 

Clarke kept herself busy enough that she didn't really have time to watch a lot of TV, but eventually, her mother did insist that she go home and take a few days off.

"Have you seen yourself?" Abby had asked on Monday, as gently as she could manage. "Sweetheart, you look dead. Go home. Stay home. If I hear about you coming in before Friday, I'll have security escort you out." She was smiling, but Clarke could tell she meant it. "Overbearing" was Abby's "affectionate". 

So here she was, lying on the couch, flipping through the movie channels with a bowl of dry cereal balanced on her stomach. On a Wednesday morning. Mournfully, she thought about how she would've been at the hospital for hours by now, joking around with Jackson and the nurses, not thinking about how absolutely flat she felt. 

And "flat" was the best word for it. She wasn't as overwhelmingly sad as she had been for the first few days, but it still hadn't quite been two weeks yet. There was still an ache that throbbed through her when she wasn't paying attention, knocking out all other thoughts. She had jeopardized her relationship with one of her best friends-- maybe ruined it altogether. And the worst part was that she had brought it on herself. She had known that getting emotionally involved was a terrible idea, but she couldn't stop herself. If she had left earlier, maybe none of this would've happened. She could've nipped these feelings in the bud, and when Bellamy came home with someone, she could've been convincing when she pretended to be happy for him. But she was greedy and shameless and wanted what she wanted, completely unable to deny herself even though she knew better.

"What the hell are you doing?" Raven demanded, cutting off her rapidly spiraling thoughts. "Weren't you off yesterday?"

Clarke nodded, crunching her Lucky Charms. "Mom told me not to come in again until Friday." Pouting a little, she added, "She said I look dead." 

Raven's hands fell from her hips, and she settled herself down next to Clarke's feet, patting them absently. "Bad news, babe: you do look dead. Under-eye circles like a raccoon and Professor Snape hair isn't your best look. Not to mention the fact that you look, y'know, completely emotionally vacant."

"You know," Clarke eyed her, "you really suck at being comforting."

"Yeah, I'm done with comforting," Raven nodded, matter-of-fact. "What you need is a kick in the ass." 

"You think everyone needs a kick in the ass."

"Mostly. But you especially. What can I tell you that will make you feel better? That, according to Monty and Jasper, Bellamy's crazy about you and has been for ages? You won't believe me. That running away was the right thing to do? I don't know that it was. And you already know everything is gonna be okay in the long run. You're just...indulging yourself." Her tone somehow conveyed disapproval without judgment. "So you have to get up and deal with this head-on."

Wait. "What do you mean, head-on?" 

Raven's face never changed. "Tomorrow's Thursday." 

"Yes."

"The show airs on Thursdays."

"No." 

"Yes, it does." 

"I mean, no, I know where you're going with this, and the answer is, unequivocally, no. No. How many times can I say no in one minute?"

"I'd rather not find out. You have to do it. And if you say no again, I'm going to kick you right in the chest. I'm at a great angle for it." 

"Whatever. Just use your regular foot so you don't break a rib. I'm not doing it." 

Finally, Raven sighed, put the cereal bowl on the ground, and draped herself over her friend so that her head rested on her hands over Clarke's ribs. "Look, I know you don't want to see him with other girls-- that's part of why you left, right?-- but you're going to have to eventually. Odds are, he's gonna come home with a girlfriend, and even if she isn't here right away, you will end up seeing them together. They're gonna be around. Might as well get used to the idea now so it isn't awkward when he gets back. Unless you want to completely cripple your relationship. I dunno. Your call." 

Groaning, Clarke dropped her head back onto the arm of the couch, which was truly not as padded as she thought it was. "Ow, shit," she shook her head and leaned back more gently this time. At last, she said, "Ugh. You're right."

"I know. I'm awesome, and I'm never wrong." 

"Too far. But you're right about this. I don't want things to be weird when the show ends, so I should probably get my shit together now."

"So you'll watch the show."

Clarke nodded but didn't look happy about it. "I insist we have drinks on hand, but yeah. I'll do it." 

 

 

Raven Reyes  
11:12 am  
I convinced Clarke to watch the show.

Octavia Blake  
11:13 am  
YES GOD. Finally things are going right in this miserable shitshow.

Lincoln  
11:15 am  
How did you convince her? 

Raven Reyes  
11:17 am  
I didn't tell her anything, if that's what you're asking. Have a little faith, big guy. 

Raven Reyes  
11:17 am  
I just told her that she should get used to seeing Bellamy with someone else. For the sake of their friendship. And she agreed.

Jasper Jordan  
11:19 am  
oh my god that's the saddest thing i've ever heard

Nathan Miller  
11:21 am  
They're both so fucking pathetic. How have they survived this long as friends? 

Octavia Blake  
11:23 am  
Extreme denial and mild codependence.

Monty Green  
11:25 am  
^^ Yes, that, definitely. God, you guys should've seen him storming into the tech base when Clarke wasn't answering his texts. He just thought something was wrong with her pager...

Jasper Jordan  
11:25 am  
yeah and when we had to tell him that she was gone- his face. jesus. it was too much.

Octavia Blake  
11:28 am  
D: 

Octavia Blake  
11:28 am  
Btw, did you guys end up giving him the note? Pls say you did. I need to know what it said.

Monty Green  
11:29 am  
We did, and he read it, but he didn't tell us anything. He just said thanks and walked away.

Nathan Miller  
11:31 am  
...are you FUCKING SERIOUS. I hate him. Him and all of you for making me care. If you asked me a month ago if I would ever give a shit about a note Clarke wrote Bellamy, the answer would be a really unimpressed no. 

Nathan Miller  
11:32 am  
But I would also have assumed it was like a post-it on his fridge or something, not some emotionally fraught letter she wrote to explain that she loves him and is leaving him. That's some Young and the Restless nonsense. I feel like my nana watching her stories.

Raven Reyes  
11:35 am  
This week on The Young and the Clueless: will Clarke and Bellamy finally pull their heads out of their asses? WHO CAN SAY

Octavia Blake  
11:40 am  
i s2g...

 

 

Raven trapped Clarke in the living room at 6:30, and by 6:45 she was reaching for the wine. 

“The show doesn’t start until seven,” she reasoned, “so I think I have time to get sufficiently drunk before it starts.” 

“A,” Raven began, “unless you skipped lunch, I don’t think you’re getting anywhere near drunk in fifteen minutes. And B, could you please, for once in your life, have some level of chill?”

“No! I have no chill. You know that.” Clarke took a long slug from the bottle and set it back down on the coffee table. After a moment’s consideration, she picked it back up and cradled it in her lap. At Raven’s doubtful look, she shrugged. “I might as well just hold onto it.” 

Between Raven’s coaxing (“Would you relax? It’s not gonna be that bad!” “Yes, it _is_.”) and a commercial that sparked some debate (“I would never watch a reality show about a girl born without a vagina trying to find love. It’s equally dumb and transphobic.” “You were literally just on a dating show. There’s no telling what you would and wouldn’t do these days.”), the fifteen minutes passed all too quickly. 

As The One’s sparkly intro music began, Clarke slid down in her seat and took another gulp from the wine bottle. 

“Give me that,” Raven snatched it away. “If you drink the entire time, this won’t accomplish anything.” 

Clarke groaned but didn’t fight her. The show opened on a shot of Cage sitting on some sunny outdoor patio, looking like someone who had had the word ‘somber’ described to them but had only ever seen pictures of serial killers. She actually laughed a little at that. “That guy,” she informed Raven, “is the biggest douche. And not even a good actor either. I think he only hosts because his dad owns the network.” 

Reaching over to whack her on the knee, Raven shushed her. “Would you listen?” 

She cranked up the volume, and Cage’s voice became unavoidable. “--quite gone according to plan, so tonight’s episode will be a little different. All the same, we’d like to show you the most recent events on this season of The One...” 

Clarke darted a glance at Raven. “What’s he talking about? It sounds like something went wrong.” 

“Who knows? A long of people on Twitter were up in arms about you leaving. Maybe they mobbed the set.” 

“What do you mean, up in arms?”

“Not mad at you, per se. Just upset that you bailed when you were their favorite.”

Shaking her head bitterly, Clarke said, “That was never supposed to happen. I was supposed to fly under the radar. But then again, a lot of stuff that was never supposed to happen...did.” 

“Maybe,” Raven ventured, as gently as she could manage, “that’s why you were the favorite. The whole world could tell that you guys--”

“Stop it. What they saw was me forgetting what I was there to do and blurring more lines than Robin Thicke. And unlike him, I have an appropriate degree of regret over that.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t really regret it. I mean, it sucks now, but for a while, it felt right, didn’t it?”

 

Miserably, Clarke watched as the remaining girls opened the date hint. “Yeah. It did. But I can’t be sure if it was real or not. And the fact that he’s still there makes me think it wasn’t.” She added quickly, “Not that I wanted him to run after me or anything. But if he can just shake it off and keep dating, what, fifteen other girls? Can’t have meant all that much. And that’s okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Raven started, but then Bellamy’s face took up the screen, and she stopped to look over at her friend. Aside from a subtle tightening around the eyes and mouth, Clarke’s face barely changed as Bellamy spoke. 

Oddly, his face was just as hard to read. “So, yeah, Clarke had to go. Of course I’m upset about it. I genuinely enjoyed all the time we had together, and I really did think,” here he broke off and frowned a little before recovering. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. And regardless of how I feel, I wouldn’t make someone stay if they didn’t want to. It helps, I guess, that I never got the chance. Clarke left...quietly, so if you’re looking for answers about why she left, I’m the wrong person to ask. If anyone on set knows, they haven’t told me, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as dramatic as what people are building it up to be.”

Credit where credit was due, he was putting on a good show. Disappointment without resentment, confusion while still giving her the benefit of the doubt. It was really the best Clarke could’ve asked for, in terms of spinning her abrupt departure for the audience. She hadn’t wanted to be anyone’s favorite, but she definitely wanted to avoid open hostility if at all possible.

“That was good, right?” she asked Raven. “Like, in terms of shaping public opinion?”

Raven quirked a wry eyebrow. “Man’s not a defense attorney for nothing. I think you’ll be fine.”

Neither said anything else as The One’s chintzy scene transition glittered across the screen, revealing Bellamy and four girls walking into a hedge maze. One of them was Echo, and after a moment, Clarke realized she should probably relax her clenched jaw. So what if Echo played a part in Bellamy’s decision to stay? Clarke didn’t have any more of a claim on him than she did, and, again, she hadn’t expected him to chase her. (Would she have hated it, though? Definitely not.)

Watching Bellamy and the girls wander around wasn’t so bad, really. They were all split up, only bumping into each other occasionally. Sometimes, two girls would meet, only to go their separate ways at the very next intersection instead of sticking together. Probably, Clarke guessed, so that when they found Bellamy, they wouldn’t have to share their time. She felt like there had to be some game theory/Prisoner’s Dilemma shit going on there, and she respected that.

Every so often, one of the girls would meet up with Bellamy and, much to Clarke’s begrudging amusement, it was never head-on. They would either almost collide while rounding a corner (incredible) or the girl would see him from behind and call his name, making him jump a little (possibly even better). They would walk together for a little while, talking about whatever came up. Usually, Bellamy would ask them a question based on some personal detail he remembered about them-- their dog, their job, how badly they missed having their cell phone. Since they were still just a few weeks in and had only now moved to smaller group dates, he didn’t know many deep, personal things about them yet, and vice versa. Clarke ignored the resentful voice in her head harrumphing that she and Bellamy knew everything about each other. That wasn’t important anymore.

Of course Echo would be the last girl he ran into, and of course she would manage to make their meeting not feel awkward. Unlike the others, when she saw him from a distance, she just picked up speed until she fell into step next to him. Clarke didn’t hear whatever they said directly after that, as she was too busy burying an agonized groan into the arm of the sofa.

“I agree,” Raven nodded. “Not everybody was on board with wanting you to win at first, but one thing we could all agree on was that Echo was the worst.” 

“Well,” Clarke hesitated, “I don’t know about that. I mean, is she disgustingly competitive? Yeah. But when I talked to her, I kinda got the feeling that she’s never had a lot of female friends, you know what I mean? It’s like she doesn’t know how to interact with other girls. And even though it was for selfish reasons, she did tip me off about Lexa.”

“What about Lexa?” 

“Long story short, she tried to kiss me to get me disqualified.”

Raven’s eyes darted between Clarke and the TV, which she had paused. “Okay, I’m not accepting the short version of that story. You _will_ be telling me the whole thing at some later time. But I just heard Echo say your name, so we need to rewind.”

Shit. Just what she needed: Echo using her departure to her advantage, right after Clarke had defended her. 

She watched as Echo bumped her shoulder against Bellamy’s. “I’m sorry Clarke left. You expect girls to get eliminated, but it’s another thing to just walk out.” Her disapproval at the idea of “walking out” was audible.

“Oh my God,” Raven groaned. “What an asshole. Of course she would try to capitalize on you leaving.” 

Clarke just shushed her, waiting to see how Bellamy would react. 

“I’m sure she had her reasons. From what I saw, she was a good person, not the type to just flake out. Whatever her reasons, it certainly wasn’t for lack of a connection.”

What the fuck? She honestly couldn’t decide how she felt about that. Was he just covering for her? Because that seemed above and beyond. Or was he just sniping at Echo? But he liked her-- he had no reason to do that.

If Echo was bothered by his answer, she hardly showed it. “I’m sure you’re right. I was just worried that you felt, I don’t know, unwanted.” 

“Believe me,” Clarke heard Bellamy say over the sound of Raven booing, “that’s not a concern.” 

Angry heat flooded her face as Echo reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Good. I’m sure the rest of us would be more than happy to make sure you never feel that way. At least, I would.” 

Wordlessly, Raven passed over the confiscated bottle of wine, and Clarke took an angry gulp.

“Regretting standing up for Echo yet?” 

“Thoroughly.”

There was a long, surprisingly uncomfortable pause before Bellamy spoke again. “Look,” he stopped in his tracks and turned to look Echo in the eye, neatly removing her hand from his shoulder. “I have to go. I really like you, and I’m so flattered that you’re interested in me. But, for a lot of reasons, I can’t be here anymore. I hope you can see that it’s got nothing to do with you, with any of you, and I hope you understand.” It all came out perfectly measured, as if he had used that long pause to compose the speech, then plowed ahead with it. Clarke wasn’t sure if the loud clunking sound she heard was from the wine bottle hitting the floor squarely bottom-first, but she could guess, since her hand was now empty.

“Do you mean you’re leaving here, or leaving the show?” Once again, Echo was impassive. Clarke’s entire brain felt fuzzy, and she was only remotely aware of Raven watching her out of the corner of her eye.

“Leaving the show. Things have just sort of...clicked. And I’m sorry for how it affects you all, but I can’t stay here when I need to be somewhere else.” What did that _mean_? _What_ did that _mean_?

“Is this about Clarke?” 

There was no room for anything else in her head.

“Yeah. It’s about Clarke.”

“What the fuck,” she murmured, entirely by accident. Then, hearing herself and agreeing, she repeated, louder, “What the fuck?” Clarke swiveled to direct her bewilderment at Raven, but she was busy with picking up the dropped bottle and wiping up the little slosh of wine.

“What are you looking at me for?” Raven asked without looking up. “I’m not surprised at all.”

“Bullshit,” Clarke sputtered. “There is no way you saw that coming.” 

Shrugging, Raven rose to take the bottle and soiled napkins to the kitchen. “Maybe not. It’s still not a surprise. I told you he loves you, but whatever. Now do you believe me?”

Maybe she did. A part of her wanted to believe that he was just concerned about her, as a friend, but that part sounded weak and pathetic, even to her. Wasn’t it just being cowardly, pretending that he didn’t care about her so she never had to confront the fact of them, with all its inherent risks? The idea of being with someone so tied up in every part of her life was, in a practical sense, terrifying. 

From somewhere in the back of her head, a snippet of a book or a poem rose to the surface: “And there was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it.”

She twisted around to look over the back of the sofa. “Raven--” Whatever she had been about to say-- and she wasn’t sure what that was-- was cut off by a knock at the door. 

As Raven answered the door, Clarke turned back around to face the TV, where Cage was saying something diplomatic about Bellamy’s abandonment. She wasn’t really processing anything he was saying, more just letting his slimy voice melt into white noise as she tried to figure out what exactly she was going to do now.

When the door shut moments later, she didn’t look back before calling, “Who was that?” 

“Just a neighbor bringing by a letter of yours that got delivered to them.” 

“A letter?”

Clarke heard the footsteps coming up behind her, so she was prepared when the envelope fell into her lap from above. Just a plain white envelope with no name, address, or postmark. It was even already opened. What the hell? But something about it looked familiar.

Inside was a single page of lined yellow paper, one ripped from one of Monty’s legal pads. Its top edge was ragged because her hands had been trembling a little when she had torn it. And in her neat handwriting, the clear print that had made her a favorite with hospital nurses and pharmacists:

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

Her breath caught when she saw what was scrawled below it, slanted impatiently and instantly recognizable:

“Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?” 

Then, smaller:

Why did you leave? 

“Raven, who--” Clarke started to twist around again, but she was already flopping down next to her on the sofa. No, not Raven. Someone else tan and dark-haired. Oh, fuck.

“So?” Bellamy prompted her. “Why did you leave?” 

She couldn’t even bring herself to be surprised. Of course he flew back here to confront her. It was literally the most Bellamy thing he could do. She should’ve realized when the footsteps behind her didn’t have Raven’s telltale prosthetic thump.

All she could do was shake her head. “You know why I left. I mean, you have to, right? Don’t make me say it.” 

“No,” he said, adamant. “I _am_ going to make you say it. Because as far as I can tell, you ran off and told me you loved me in the worst Dear John letter ever, and if I’m reading this wrong, I need to know.”

He wasn’t wrong. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to be as succinct as possible. “No, you’re not reading it wrong. And that’s exactly why I couldn’t stay! You were dating twenty other girls, and all of a sudden, I didn’t like it, and let’s be honest-- a nationally televised reality show is the wrong place to work through complex feelings. I just needed to get away to get used to the idea, plus the idea that it wasn’t going to happen, so we could still be friends when this was all over. That hasn’t really worked out, but whatever, I’m trying. And it didn’t help that Lexa got threatened by me and decided to kiss me to get me disqualified, so I just left.” 

“Wait, Lexa what?” Not the response she was expecting, but it could’ve been worse.

“Positioned us in front of a camera and made it look like I was coming onto her. It’s not important.”

“Uh,” he frowned, “it really is, and we’re definitely gonna revisit that later--”

“That’s what Raven said.” 

Bellamy held up a hand. “Stop trying to go off-topic. If you realized you were jealous, why not say something, instead of making out with me and, not twelve hours later, running off?” 

“I’m sorry, do you not remember where we were?” she demanded. “A contrived reality show where you were interested in other people was not the time or place for genuine declarations of feelings, and I didn’t want to set myself up to be disappointed when you weren’t interested.” 

“I’m sorry, do you not remember that I didn’t want to go on that fucking show in the first place?” he asked disbelievingly. “Yeah, I was making the best of it, and there were some great people there, but that doesn’t mean I was taking it seriously! And why in the hell would you think I wouldn’t be interested?” 

Mouth agape, she gestured wildly at his hand. “You did the thing! In the car, you did the thing, so I backed off.” 

Bellamy closed his eyes and sighed, looking pained. “I did _a_ thing, but not _that thing_. Not the one you thought.” 

Carefully, Clarke let out an eloquent, “...oh.” Obviously, that changed just about everything, and she wasn’t really fully processing it. “See, I knew that was a possibility, but I kinda just talked myself out of it. It was easier, I guess. Made things less complicated.” 

“I,” he started, then stopped. “Let me get this straight. There were multiple signs that I was interested, not least of which was my face pretty enthusiastically on yours, and you chose to completely ignore those in favor of assuming that everything was bad and you needed to leave?”

Well, not quite, but. “Yes.”

“Also, you’re now responding to my not explicit but clearly understood ‘I love you too’-- which, by the way, is not a recent development-- with ‘I knew that was a possibility’?”

Clarke looked a little sheepish at that. “Well, I did not know it wasn’t recent, so we’re gonna circle back to that, but, again, yes? Obviously I’m happy about it, and I’m assuming you don’t need reassurance about how I feel, so I’m just taking a moment to, I guess, absorb it?” 

He looked somehow affectionately disgusted. “I need you to stop absorbing and kiss me or something, please.” 

It was a fair request. “Since you said please.” 

 

 

Raven Reyes  
7:35 pm  
Break out your party poppers kids, bc they have been making out in the living room-- our living room, which we share-- for a gross and unacceptable period of time.

Octavia Blake  
7:35 pm  
Oh thank GOD. If this didn’t work, I was going to handcuff them together. Now I just have these handcuffs. (Let them have this. It’s been coming for so long.)

Jasper Jordan  
7:36 pm  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monty Green  
7:37 pm  
That’s awesome, and totally not surprising at all. Also, my ears are ruined, so. (If you didn’t know, apparently !!!!!! makes an sound, mostly audible to dogs but also to humans.) 

Nathan Miller  
7:38  
Well hot damn. What now? Can we come over and like, shame them for being such assholes up til now? 

Lincoln  
7:39 pm  
I have one of those bells, if you want to do it like on Game of Thrones.

Lincoln  
7:39 pm  
Shame [clangalang]  
Shame [clangalang]  
Shame [clangalang]  
etc

Nathan Miller  
7: 39 pm  
yes

Octavia Blake  
7:40 pm  
Wow. You’re way too excited about shaming and not excited enough about these handcuffs that I have now.

Lincoln  
7:41 pm  
later

Raven Reyes  
7:42 pm  
A. Gross, stop.  
B. I ordered pizza a while ago, so if the delivery guy doesn’t make them detach, yes, you can come shame them, complete with Shame Bell.

Jasper Jordan  
7:47 pm  
dont you dare. my children are finally happy, let them have this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, with multiple Pride&Prejudice references and the promise of the GoT Shame Bell, we end our tale. (Thanks to everyone that helpfully commented about FCC violations, which I mean as sarcastically as a human can mean things.) Keep an eye out for the epilogue coming hopefully soon! Bellamy did agree to that last interview, didn't he? 
> 
> Come rage at me [on Tumblr](http://maryam0revna.tumblr.com/ask)!


	11. Love is...Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited post-season recap of The One!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is patient and kind and so on, and so are y'all, for waiting ages and ages on this epilogue!

“You know,” Clarke mused, “it’s ironic that you agreed to this with the stipulation that I wouldn’t have to participate if I didn’t want to-- which I appreciate, obviously-- and you’re the one that’s freaking out.” 

“That’s not what ‘ironic’ means,” Bellamy huffed, still pacing. 

“A humorous disparity between expectation and reality is exactly what ironic means, you pedantic ass.” She put out a hand to stop him, but he dodged it. “But the fact that you have the wherewithal to be obnoxious is a good sign. Before you get into your Alanis Morissette rant, can you explain why you’re so antsy right now? It’s not like your life and relationships haven’t been dissected on national television before.”

Now he did stop. “Clarke, do you not realize that we might be about to get thrown to the wolves? You’ve seen all the tweets and previews. A lot of people aren’t happy with how the show ended, and you know they’re gonna play up the drama even more.”

With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and approached him carefully, as if he were a deer that would bolt if she moved too fast. “Okay, fair enough. But answer me this: are __you__ happy with how the show ended?”

A little of his stiffness melted, and he wound an arm around her waist. “I mean, I wish the show itself had gone a little differently. Mostly that I hadn’t wasted my time not going after you. But yeah, the end results are totally worth it.”

“I know,” she grinned. “And do you think national disapproval will make our situation any less awesome?” 

He snorted. “No. Even if more angry suburban moms egg our house. Houses. We are solidly awesome.”

“That was just the once. Well, once each,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “And we took our addresses out of the directories and all that, so I think we’re clear.” 

A girl in a headset peeked into their dressing room. “Five minutes, guys. You ready?”

“Yes,” Clarke nodded firmly. It was part answer to headset girl, part a command to Bellamy.

After a moment (and an exasperated look from Clarke) he agreed. “Lead the way.”

 

 

Fortunately, the hour-long special had already been going on for thirty minutes before Cage gave them their cue to come out-- apparently, the other contestants were plenty interesting on their own. Unfortunately, that meant all the easy questions like, “Echo, why are you such a bitch?” had already been asked, leaving only the really tough, borderline invasive ones. The anticipation was, to say the least, thoroughly built.

Cage announced their entrance, and they walked onstage as normally as they could, to mixed applause. They didn’t hold hands, but Clarke did brush a supportive hand down Bellamy’s wrist before they sat in their respective chairs.

After the noise died down and the basic greetings had been exchanged, the first question came from Cage, and, to be fair, it could’ve been worse. 

“So,” he slimed, shifting to face the them better, “what have you two been up to since you both left the show so unceremoniously?” 

Ignoring how loaded the question was, Clarke answered. “Well, it’s only been a month, and we’ve both been busy with our regular lives. Not much has changed, I guess, aside from the obvious results of going on a reality show. We’ve both had clients, or, my case, patients who recognized us.”

“We did __also__ buy a house together,” Bellamy added, a little more smug than she expected. Clarke had planned on leaving that out, but Bellamy seemed intent on either getting the audience on their side or just pissing them off as much as possible.

“Wow,” Cage’s ‘wow’ face was disturbingly vacant amidst the exaggerated gasps from the crowd. “After only a month? Isn’t that moving a little fast?”

“Not when we’ve known each other for almost ten years and lived a few doors down for the last three.” Bellamy shrugged. 

“Really, we had all this extra cash from the show, so when this unbelievably nice house came up for sale across town, the choice was to either fight over who got to buy it or just...buy it. Of course,” Clarke made a face that was probably too unattractive for TV, “we’re still living our own places while the sale is finalized, but that hasn’t stopped angry fans from egging both his house, my house, and the new one.” 

“Ah,” Cage seized on this new topic with genuine zeal. It was objectively disturbing to watch his face come to life. “That brings us to the real meat of tonight’s wrap-up: the resentment from fans and contestants alike over the way the show ended. I believe we have at least one contestant who has something to say about that. Jenny?” He gestured grandly at the contestants’ section. 

(A section which, now that Clarke looked at it, was astoundingly white. Did this show not have even a token interest in diversity?

“Jennifer, actually,” corrected Jennifer-Not-Jenny as she stood from her seat. “And I’m just wondering, why would you both come on the show and waste all of our time if you already knew and liked each other? Like, why get anyone’s hopes up?”

Clarke tried to ignore the very real weirdness of some of these girls still being aggressively interested in her boyfriend and being mad at her for dating him herself. “Well, the first thing you should know is that we weren’t actually into each other before we came on the show. I mean, not consciously anyway. He was one of my best friends, and I always knew he was hot, but I guess I never put those things together.”

“And I had been over her for years, or so I thought. It was just a constant state of, ‘I like her but it’s not gonna be a thing, so I’m just gonna live my life’, I guess. So to answer your very pointed question, we didn’t know it would end up like this. I thought that much was obvious. She was just a friend that I kind of begged to come along because I was nervous.”

The audience reaction was a mix of aww’s and booing, and after letting them yell for a second, Cage cut them off. “Alright, alright,” he shushed them. “Sounds fair enough to me, despite the obvious and egregious rule-breaking. We had another question from Harper, I think? We’ll get to audience questions in a minute. Don’t forget to tweet your questions to our Twitter account and they might be asked on air. Harper?”

Harper had been one of Clarke’s favorites, and she steeled herself for whatever she was about to say. A little of her anxiety faded when she saw the twinkle in Harper’s eye. 

“All I want to know is,” she raised her pale eyebrows suggestively, “how did you hang out with this guy for ten years and not want to hit that?” The audience roared with approval, and she shouted over them, grinning, “I mean really! Really. I have to know.” 

It took a minute to answer, because Clarke was only human, and as such, was pretty much doubled over laughing, overwhelmed with relief. She peeked over at Bellamy, only to see that he was splitting his attention between cracking up and looking at her expectantly. 

“Yeah,” he smirked, “tell us, Clarke! How did you resist all this for so long?”

Pulling herself together, she swiped her hair out of her face and shook her head. “I have no idea. I have no idea! Actually,” she corrected, “that’s a total lie. Because, see, I always knew he was cute, right? But we weren’t even friends for the longest time. Like, any of our other friends will tell you-- for the first year or so, we couldn’t even play board games without nearly ripping each other’s heads off.” 

“This one time,” Bellamy chimed in, “we made the mistake of playing Twister, and I almost lost an arm. My left elbow still responds to barometric pressure. Clarke Griffin is a stone-cold killer.”

“Hey!” she protested. “You kept deliberately putting your hands where I wanted to put my hands. I had no choice.” 

‘Bullshit! You--”

“Okay,” Cage cut them off loudly, looking almost amused. Almost. “So clearly not much has changed. I think we had one more contestant question before we move on to the audience. Bree?”

Bree, Clarke remembered faintly, was a tender, sensitive sort of girl, and she was definitely the type to take Bellamy’s departure personally. They hadn’t heard from Lexa or Echo yet, so they must be leading up to the real drama.

Apparently, the drama was to begin with Bree, as she stood with tears in her eyes and asked, in a tremulous voice, “I want to ask Bellamy, did you...did you ever like us? Like, really like us? Or were we all just distractions from--” She glanced at Clarke but couldn’t seem to say her name.

Bellamy looked genuinely distressed at that, and Clarke slid her hand to cover his. He took a deep breath. “One thing I wanted to make clear, and I tried to make it clear when I told Echo I had to leave, was this had nothing to do with any of you. I honestly enjoyed getting to know all of you. You’re great people, and I’ve always been beyond flattered that you would come on the show just to get to know me. Just because I didn’t choose to be with any of you, that doesn’t mean you aren’t all great and gorgeous and smart. There were just...unforeseen circumstances.”

(Clarke wondered fleetingly if Bellamy had rehearsed that. Of course he had.)

“But--” Bree warbled, but Bellamy cut her off as gently as possible.

“More to the point,” he leveled her with a sympathetic look, “you were eliminated before everything happened. So, my leaving didn’t really have any bearing on you. Did it?” It was the gentlest way he could point out that he wouldn’t have chosen her even if Clarke hadn’t factored in.

Bree could only shake her head and look away, duly chastened. 

In the ensuing awkward silence, Cage did his little “be right back” spiel, and they cut to the first of the commercial breaks; Clarke and Bellamy both deflated a little. 

“Okay,” Bellamy breathed, “that wasn’t so bad.” 

“Don’t unclench just yet,” Cage smirked. “That was just the buildup.”

Clarke glared at him and bumped her ankle against Bellamy’s. “We’ll be fine.” 

They spent the next four minutes in silence, being fussed over by makeup, but Clarke caught a sidelong glimpse of Lexa staring from the contestants’ section. Her eyes were as piercing as ever, standing out against her characteristic raccoon eyeliner, but her face was unreadable.

When they came back from the commercial break, Cage announced that they’d be taking questions from the live audience now. It sounded innocuous-- how bad could the audience be?-- but Clarke wasn’t fooled. She’d seen the tweets and cleaned the eggs off her house. There was a contingent that was really happy to see them together, but there was also a faction that definitely was not. And since the drama had officially begun, no way were they backing off now.

And sure enough, the first audience member that stood up looked __steamed__. She had that “let me speak to your manager” Kate Gosselin haircut and a hand propped on her hip.

Clarke bet she sent wine-based memes to her other 40-something friends on Facebook, when she wasn’t busy criticizing other people’s relationships. She could practically smell the Mod Podge coming off the DIY’d Live Laugh Love reclaimed wood plaque in her kitchen.

But she was still caught off guard when the woman said, “Hi, I’m Carrie-Lee from Collierville, Tennessee, and I want to know: Bellamy, why are you dating a lesbian?”

What __the fuck__.

Fortunately, the vast majority of the audience seemed to have the same thought, erupting in murmured “?????” sounds. Thank God.

When the noise died down, Bellamy frowned and raised a disdainful eyebrow at Carrie-Lee, somehow seeming to look down his nose at her, despite her standing on a balcony above the stage. “Easy: I’m not.”

Carrie-Lee was, unsurprisingly, not content to let the matter rest. “Excuse me, I think we all saw her kiss Lexa before she left. So not only is she a lesbian, she was also kissing other people when she was supposedly in love with you. Explain that!”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m gonna pass this one over, because I physically cannot answer you without getting pissed off. Clarke, wanna take this?”

“Love to.” She leveled the full weight of her coldest glare on Carrie-Lee. “There are a few things that need addressing here, but first off, you should know that kissing someone of the same gender doesn’t necessarily make you gay. There is such a thing as being bisexual, which I openly am. Bellamy’s known this basically since the the day we met. Also important to know: I never kissed Lexa. She kissed me.”

The crowd hadn’t been expecting that one, as the ensuing roar indicated.

“Hey now,” Cage shushed them, “quiet down. This is a pretty serious accusation, Clarke, and I think we ought to hear what Lexa has to say on the matter.” From the hint of anticipation on his face, it was clear that he thought the shit was about to hit the fan.

It was risky, and Clarke had been fully aware this would happen when she called Lexa out. But she had also been watching Lexa-- she was stoic as ever, unblinking in the face of the accusation. If Clarke understood Lexa the way she thought she did, this shouldn’t be a problem. Lexa was motivated by self-interest, what she had to gain from a situation, and she now had nothing to gain from lying but public approval. And Lexa probably knew as well as anyone that the most memorable characters on television weren’t the famous but the infamous.

Lexa’s eyes cut to Clarke for the briefest of moments while all the cameras panned to her, then they flicked back to Cage. 

“Well?” he prompted. “Did you kiss Clarke?”

“I did.”

The audience response was insane. Clarke didn’t sigh in relief, but it was a near thing. Instead, she gave Lexa a level look and said over the clamor, “And?” Because why not double down?

The shouts quieted almost instantly to hear her response. “And,” Lexa gave a single nod, “I positioned us in such a way that, from the way the cameras were positioned, it would seem as if Clarke initiated it.” 

Clarke could hear the gasps from the audience, but more than that, she could practically hear the tweets flooding her feed. She tried not to check it much lately, but she might just venture on to see what people had to say to __that__. 

Clarke hoped that there was at least one shot of her and Bellamy’s reactions, or rather, lack thereof. She had long since guessed what Lexa had done, and she had explained it all to him pretty much that first day. He’d been baffled, but Clarke had always been an ambitious girl, strategic-- even alongside the sting of betrayal, she understood how Lexa thought. 

Eventually, Cage was the one to ask. “Why would you do that?” 

Unlike the other contestants who stood when they spoke, Lexa stayed seated, crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair. With her arms extended over the arms of her chair, she owned every inch of her space and looked unbelievably like a Disney villain.

“I liked Clarke. I thought she might like me too. But I wanted to hedge my bets, so to speak. I knew she was probably my main competition. I was willing to drop out if she wanted to pursue something, but if she didn’t, I wanted her eliminated.” She gave an minimal shrug. “It was the right move at the time.” 

In a rare display of spontaneous expression, Cage openly goggled at that. It took him a moment to recover as he coughed into his fist. “I...I think I speak for everyone when I say I don’t understand. If you wanted to be with Clarke, why try to continue in the competition? Were you just interested in Bellamy to a...lesser degree?” 

Lexa gave a gimlet smile. “I wasn’t interested in Bellamy at all. I believe I’m the lesbian you all are looking for.” This time, she put Cage out of his misery and didn’t make him ask her to explain. “I’m an actress It goes without saying, I think, that getting jobs can be difficult. Most of the people I audition for know I’m a lesbian. What better way to prove my skills and versatility on a national stage than to pretend to be interested in a man and make him fall in love with me? The show would draw attention, but not so much that I’d be too well-known to cast.”

Again, Cage seemed to draw a blank. All he could seem to think to ask was, “And has your plan worked?” 

Her smile grew even more self-satisfied, and Clarke wanted to punch her a little, but there was no real anger there. “Yes, actually. A director I had previously auditioned for saw the show, and I can’t say much about it at the moment, but you can expect to see me at Sundance and Cannes next year.” 

For one long moment, easily 99% of the room wore identical expressions of shock.

Bellamy broke the silence. “Good for you.” When Clarke and Cage and probably the entire audience rounded on him with disbelief, he shrugged. “It was a solid plan, and obviously it paid off. Clarke called it from the second she left the show-- she knew Lexa had something up her sleeve, even though neither of us could figure out what it was. And as much as I’m not a fan of people making out with my girlfriend, we weren’t together at the time. It’s not like I can blame her for wanting to.” 

Clarke just stared at him, a slow smile dawning. Of course Cage caught it. Turning to her, he asked, “How do you feel about all this? You were the one caught in the middle, after all. Was it a betrayal or a compliment-- since apparently you’re irresistible.”

She pursed her lips, unable to force herself to look relaxed. “You know, I still don’t quite know. Yes, it was objectively a good plan, and no, I’m not personally hurt by it or anything. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t an absolute garbage thing to do. Her options were to date me or completely sabotage me? Honestly, that just sounds like a person with no concept of a healthy relationship to me, romantic __or__ platonic. Like I said, I’m not crying myself to sleep over it, but I can’t and won’t give her a pass on something like that.”

Cage nodded sagely, then pressed a hand to his ear. “Interesting. Very interesting. I’m getting a report just now from our social media monitors that someone with the username @costia88 tweeted, ‘This is exactly why I broke up with Lexa. Absolutely cold-blooded. #TheOneRecap’ Lexa, does that mean anything to you?” 

Lexa, who had begun to look just a fraction more vulnerable during Clarke’s diatribe, shut down. “I can assure you, that means less than nothing to me.” She wouldn’t say any more. 

“Well. Alright then.” Cage cut the camera a skeptical glance like he was on The Office. “I think we have time for one more question.”

The swirling lights came to rest on a tall man in a red polo with a mic already in hand. “Hi, I’m Andres from Miami, Florida. My question is for Clarke. You have to know by now that after you left, Bellamy kept going out with the other girls, and it seemed like he had a real interest in Echo. Going after you was dramatic and all, but does that not bother you?” His voice was getting steadily louder, and the man sitting next to him reached out to pat his hand. Andres brushed him off but lowered his voice to a normal volume. “I’m just saying, that would worry me.” 

The crowd murmured in agreement. Of all the questions and rumors circulating after the show, this was one Clarke hadn’t known about. But then again, she had basically shut down her social media for the last month and commanded her friends to stop telling her about it. 

When she looked over at Bellamy, he actually seemed like he was waiting to hear her answer. Typical. He had such a hard time believing people trusted him. He knew better with her, but in his defense, Clarke knew it was easy to fall back on old insecurities in a high-stress situation.

She sat up straighter in her seat. Even though she hadn’t seen it coming, this was probably the easiest question so far, and she was absolutely confident, even if he wasn’t. “Short answer? No, it doesn’t bother me, for a lot of reasons.”

Before she could elaborate, Cage cut in. “Does it really not? Andres had a point. He didn’t go after you immediately, and we could all see that he and Echo had real chemistry.” 

“It really doesn’t. Like Bellamy said earlier, we weren’t together at the time, so I have no right to judge the choices he made then. But the biggest thing is this: I trust him. Completely. Mean Girls style, you guys: the limit does not exist.” That got solid laugh from the audience, lightening the serious mood by a mile. 

She went on. “Really though. I know this guy. One of his best, and occasionally most irritating qualities is his honesty. He’s completely straightforward. If he wanted to be with someone else, especially someone who had expressed an interest in him, he would be with them and not buying a house with me. I know he’s where he wants to be, and that’s really all there is to it.”

Cage seemed satisfied, and from the aww’s coming from the crowd, the audience was too. Still, he turned to Bellamy and asked, “Do you have anything to say about it? Maybe an explanation for why you stayed on the show, dating other women when you were in love with someone else?” 

Unlike Clarke, he was actually prepared for this one. “I mentioned before that I had...had feelings for her before, years ago, when neither of us was really in a position to commit time to a relationship. I was in my last year of law school, she had just started medical school, we were constantly exhausted. I sort of accepted that it wasn’t the right time, and I just enjoyed spending what little free time we had together.

“Anyway, I thought I was pretty much over it-- over __her__. So when she left without saying anything, it was easy to tell myself to get over it again. I couldn’t force her to be interested, and even though I thought that she was, I wasn’t sure. At the time, pursuing something else seemed like the smarter choice for me, rather than pining over someone who didn’t want me.” 

“What changed your mind?” Cage wanted to know. “We all saw that day in the maze where you just stopped in your tracks, told Echo goodbye, and left. What happened there?”

Bellamy spread his hands helplessly. “It just clicked. I was with this lovely girl who was being so nice to me, really making it clear that she was interested, and all I could think about was Clarke. Echo was kind of trashing her for leaving, and it didn’t make me feel better-- in fact, it just made me worry about her looking bad on TV. And I realized that, if I really did love Clarke and I thought for a second that she might want me back, pursuing anybody else was a waste of time. I was just afraid that if I went after her, she’d say no, and it would damage what we did have. But wouldn’t it be worth it, to take the risk, rather than live my life wondering what would’ve happened if I had? So, I risked it.”

When his eyes slid to hers, Clarke couldn’t keep from matching his grin. “And it was worth it. While everything was happening, I was so confused, and it didn’t feel fair to keep him from pursuing someone who was sure of how she felt. As dramatic as it was, I think him leaving was the only way he could’ve convinced me that he loved me and, more than that, I was allowed to love him back.” 

God, she knew they were both grinning like loons at that point, the very picture of Obnoxious Love, but she didn’t give a single fuck. They’d come out here knowing full well that thousands of people were mad at them for being together, and she was so absurdly happy anyway. Things had gotten twisted-up and stupid for a minute there, but everything was so __good__ now, so painfully good. No amount of national outrage had stopped them from being together, buying a house, having a lot of just unbelievably good sex, and starting a life together. They had looked at puppies at the Humane Society for Christ’s sake. 

And as little as public opinion mattered, Clarke couldn’t help but marvel a little as she looked around the audience and saw so many smiles. Maybe they were obnoxiously in love, but it was bringing people around. Even awful Carrie-Lee-- because of course Clarke remembered where that bitch was sitting-- was looking a little starry-eyed.

Cage, too, sensed the change in the tide and capitalized on it. Seizing the opportunity to end the show on a positive, romantic note, he announced, “And I think we can see, all’s well that ends well! It’s been a tumultuous season with some major twists, but what a story, am I right, guys? Two crazy kids just blindsided by love, trying to figure things out. Clarke, Bellamy, thanks so much for coming out to speak to us tonight, and on behalf of the whole One family, we’re just over the moon to see you two so happy.” 

Bellamy’s smile turned wry, as if to say, _Sure you are, now that we’ve brought in record ratings_ , and Clarke just shook her head. As the lights went down, stagehands surged forward to pull off their mics. 

Once disconnected, Cage cast an appraising look over the two of them. “I’m impressed. That was some next-level charisma, and the audience ate it up. You two really got lucky.”

Within the span of a moment, Bellamy shot Clarke a look that said, _Can I be gross?_ , and she gave a fractional nod of assent. 

He reached over and took her hand, unbearably smug, and said, “You have no idea.” 

It was all Clarke could do not to gag, so she settled for rolling her eyes and counted herself lucky indeed that he hadn’t said anything like that on air.

With a look of pure revulsion, Cage gave a heartfelt, “Eugh,” and pushed himself out of his chair. 

Winning over the audience had been great, but somehow making Cage uncomfortable was the crowning point of the entire night.

“Wow,” Bellamy voiced her thoughts. “Making Cage go away feels like I won something. I should get some kind of prize for that, right?”

Cage chose that moment to double back to the dais as if he'd forgotten something, so Clarke gave Bellamy her darkest bedroom eyes and said, “Oh, you’ll get a prize alright. Later.” 

“Jesus fucking--” He turned on his heel and left.

When he was done laughing, Bellamy asked, “Well, Miss Griffin, the people love us, and Cage hates us. Are you satisfied?”

“Definitely. What about you? Can we go now?”

He stood and offered her a hand. “Let’s go home.”

From several yards away, they could hear Cage yell, “Oh, for the love of God!” 

As much as she loved him, Clarke couldn’t disagree. “Bellamy, please.”

“Excuse me, but the major part of our relationship has revolved around us pretending to date for a TV show, you dramatically leaving in emotional turmoil and angst, and me dramatically running after you. __Now__ you want me to stop with the cliches?” 

...he was not wrong. She wouldn’t admit it, but cliches had gotten them to where they were now, and if cliches were the key to their happiness, she wasn’t about to make him stop. “Okay, counselor, you win. What trope should we tackle next?” 

He smirked down at her as he held the stage door open. “I believe there was some mention of “power couple”?”

 _Ugh_. She looked him up and down with a rueful grin. Sometimes he could be so... “Perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth FOREVER on whether to actually write this or not. I mean, the story I wanted to tell was completely told. I had no plot for this. But then it occurred to me...these people do not want plot. They want Bonus Scene fluff! And if there is one thing I can and will deliver, it is bonus scene fluff. 
> 
> Head's up: this story was nominated for the Bellarke Fanfiction Awards for the second year running! Huge thank you to my nominator(s), you're the absolute best. We won the Best Fake Relationship category last year, so let's make it two? If you liked the story, vote for it [here](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/)! Honestly, like last year, I'm incredibly flattered just to be up for the damn thing, so winning would be like pissing off Cage Wallace-- icing on the cake. 
> 
> UPDATE: apparently not. Since I won last year, it can't be in this year? I have no clue. Pity party at my place, bring booze. 
> 
> As always, especially with the end of such a long-running story, I'm v emotional and love y'all lots. Comment and hit me with your feels [on Tumblr](http://www.maryam0revna.tumblr.com/ask). If you find yourself thinking, "Aw, she doesn't wanna talk about her stuff or Bellarke in general, it'd be weird," you're 1000% wrong, and I would love to. Until next time... 
> 
>  
> 
> [(Also, go read my other stuff!)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KatMorningstar/works)


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